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COL.  GEORGE  WASHINGTON  FLOWERS 
MEMORIAL  COLLECTION 


DUKE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
DURHAM,  N.  C. 


PRESENTED  BY 
W.  W.  FLOWERS 


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'< 


(ElNilY  VIII.  AND  HIS  COURT, 


OR, 


CATHARINE  PAlili. 


%  historical 

BY  L.  MUHLBACH. 


jFrom  t$e  (German, 

BY  REV.  H.  N.  PIERCE,  D.  D 


VOLUME  I. 


MOBILE: 
6.  II.  GOETZEL,  PUBLISHER. 

1865. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1864,  by 
S.  H.  GOETZEL,  •     • 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Alabama, 
for  the  Confederate  States  of  America. 


ri» 


> 

- 


HENRY  VIII.  AND  HIS  COURT. 

. 'fan 


CHAPTER  I. 


CIIOOSINO  A   CONFESSOR. 

It  was  in  th  ■  year  1543.  King  Henry  the  Eighth  of  England  that 
day  once  more  pronounced  himself  the  happiest  and  most  enviable  man 
in  his  kingdom,  for  to-day  he  was  once  more  a  bridegroom,  and  Catha- 
rine Parr,  the  youthful  widow  of  Baron  Latimer,  had  "the  perilous  hap- 
piness of  being  selected  as  the  King's  sixth  consort.  » 

Merrily  chimed  the  bells  of  all  the  steeples  of  London  announcing  to 
the  people  the  commencement  of  that  holy  ceremony  which  sacredly 
bound  Catharine  Parr  to  the  King  as  his  sixth  wife.  The  people,  ever 
fond  of  novelty  and  show,  crowded  through  the  streets  to  •  ards  the  royal 
palace  to  catch  a  sigh  t  of  Cathaiine,  when  she  appeared  at  her  husband's 
side  upon  the  balcony,  to  show  lie; self  to  the  English  people  as  their 
queen,  and  to  receive  their  homage  in  return. 

Surely  it  was  a  proud  and  lofty  success  for  the  widow  of  a  petty 
Baron  to  become  the  lawful  wife  of  the  King  of  England  and  to  wear 
upon  her  brow  a  royal  crown  !  But  yet  Catharine  Parr's  heart  was 
moved  with  a  strange  fear,  her  cheeks  were  pale  and  cold,  and  before 
the  altar,  her  closely  compressed  lips  scarcely  had  the  power  to  part  and 
pronounce  the  binding  "I  will." 

At  last  the  sacred  ceremony  was  completed.  The  two  spiritual  di<r 
nitaries,  Gardiner,  Bishop  of  Winchester,  and  Cranmer,  Archbishop  of 
Canterbury,  then,  in  acccordance  with  court  etiquette,  led  the  young 
bride  into  her  apartments,  in  order  to  bless  them,  and  once  more  to  pray 
with  her,  before  the  worldly  festivities  should  begin. 

Catharine,  however  pale  and  agitated,  had  jet  sustained  her  part  in 
the  various  ceremonies  of  the  day  with  a  true  queenly  bearing  and  dig- 
nity, and,  as  now  with  head  proudly  erect  and  firm  step,  she  walked 
with  a  bishop  at  either  side  through  the  splendid  apartments,  no  one 
suspected  how  heavy  a  burden  weighed  upon  her  heart,  aud  what  bale- 
ful voices  were  whispering  in  her'  brea9t. 

Followed  by  her  new  Court,  she  had  traversed  with  her  companions 
the  State  apartments,  and  now  reached  the  inner  rooms.  Plere,  accord- 
ing to  the  etiquette  of  the  time,  she  must  dismiss  her  Court,  and  only 
the  two  bishops  and  her  ladies  of  honor  were  permitted  to  accompany 
the  Queen  into  the  drawing-room.     But  farther  than  this  chamber,  even 


4 

the  bishops  themselves  might  not  follow  her.  The  King  himself  had^ 
written  down  the  order  for  the  day,  and  he  who  swerved  from  this  order 
in  the  most  insignificant  point,  would  have  been  proclaimed  guilty  of 
high  treason,  and  perhaps,  have  been  led  out  to  death. 

Catharine  therefore  turned  with  a  languid  smile  to  the  two  high 
Ecclesiastics  and  requested  them  to  await  here  her  summons.  Then 
beckoning  to  her  ladies  of  honor,  she  withdrew  into  her  boudoir. 

The  two  bishops  remained  by  themselves  in  the  drawing  room.  The 
circumstance  of  their  being  alone  seemed  to  impress  them  both  alike 
unpleasantly  ;  for,  a  dark  scowl  gathered  on  the  brows  of  both,  and  they 
withdrew,  as  if  at  a  concerted  signal,  to  the  opposite  sides  of  the  spacious 
apartment. 

A  long  pause  ensued.  Nothing  was  heard  save  the  regular  ticking  of 
a  large  clock  of  rare  workmanship  which  stood  over  the  fire-place,  and 
from  the  street  afar  off,  the  rejoicing  of  the  people,  who  surged  towards 
the  palace  like  a  roaring  sea. 

Gardiner  had  stept  to  the  window  and  was  looking  up  with  his  pecu- 
liar dark  smile  at  the  clouds  which,  driven  by  the  tempest,  were  sweep- 
ing  across  the  heavens. 

Cranmer  stood  by  the  wall  on  the  opposite  side,  and  sunk  in  sad 
thoughts,  was  contemplating  a  large  portrait  of  Henry  the  Eighth,  the 
the  masterly  production  of  Holbein.  As.  he  gazed  on  that  countenance 
indicative  at  once  of  so  much  dignity  and  so  much  ferocity  ;  as  he  con- 
templated those  eyes  which  shone  with  such  gloomy  severity,  those  lips 
on  which  was  a  smile  at  once  voluptuous  and  fierce,  there  came  over 
him  a  feeling  of  deep  sympathy  with  the  young  woman,  whom  he  had, 
that  day,  devoted  to  such  splendid  misery.  He  reflected  that  he  had,  in 
like  manner,  already  conducted  two  wives  of  the  King  to  the  marriage 
altar,  and  had  blessed  their  union.  But  he  reflected  too  that  he  had  also, 
afterwards,  attended  both  these  queens  when   they  ascended  the  scaffold. 

How  easily  might  this  pitiable  young  wife  of  the  King  fall  a  victim 
to  the  same  dark  fate !  How  easily  might  Catharine  Parr,  like  Anna 
Boleyn  and  Catharine  Howard  purchase  her  short-lived  glory  with  an 
ignominious  death!  At  any  time  an  inconsiderate  word,  a  look,  a 
smile,  might  be  her  ruin.  For  the  King's  choler  and  jealousy  were  in- 
calculable, and,  to  his  cruelty,  no  punishment  seemed  too  severe  for 
those  by  whom  he  fancied  himself  injured. 

Such  were  the  thoughts  which  occupied  Bishop  Cranmer.  They  soften- 
ed him,  and  caused  the  dark  wrinkles  to  disappear  from  his  brow. 

He  now  smiled  to  himself  at  the  ill-humor  which  he  had  felt  shortly 
before,  and  upbraided  himself  for  having  been  so  little  mindful  of  his 
holy  calling,  and  for  having  exhibited  so  little  readiness  to  meet  his 
enemy  in  a  conciliating  spirit. 

Bbr  Gardiner  was  his  enemy  ;  that  Cranmer  very  well  knew.  Gar- 
diner had  often  enough  showed  him  this  by  his  deeds,  as  he  had  also 
taken  pains  by  his  words  to  assure  him  of  his  friendship. 

But  even  if  Gardiner  hated  him,  it  did  not  therefore  follow  that  Cran- 


mer  was  obliged  to  return  that  hatred,  that  he  should  denominate  him 
his  enemy,  whom  he,  in  virtue  of  their  mutual  high  calling,  was  bound 
to  honor  and  love  as  his  brother. 

The  noble  C  ran  mer  was  therefore  ashamed  of  his  momentary  ill- 
humor.  A  gentle  smile  lighted  up  his  peaceful  countenance.  With  an 
air  at  once  dignified  and  friendly,  he  crossed  the  room  and  approached 
the  Bishop  of  Winchester. 

Lord  Gardiner  turned  towards  him  with  morose  looks,  and  without 
advancing  from  the  embrasure  of  the  window  in  which  he  was  standing, 
waited  for  Cranmer  to  advance  to  him.  As  he  looked  into  that  noble 
smiling  countenance,  he  had  a  feeling,  as  if  he  must  raise  his  fist  and 
dash  it  into  the  face  of  this  man,  who  had  the  boldness  to  wish  to  be 
his  equal,  and  to  contend  with  him  for  fame  and  honor. 

But  he  reflected  in  good  time  that  Cranmer  was  still  the  King's  favorite, 
and  therefore  he  must  proceed  to  work  against  him  with  great  caution. 

So  he  forced  these  fierce  thoughts  back  into  his  heart,  and  let  his  face 
again  assume  its  wonted  grave,  and  impenetrable  expression. 

Cranmer  now  stood  close  before  him,  and  his  bright,  beaming  eye  was 
fixed  upon  Gardiner's  sullen  countenance. 

I  come  to  your  Highness,  said  Cranmer,  in  his  gentle  pleasant  voice, 
to  say  to  you  that  I  wish  with  my  whole  heart,  the  Queen  may  choose 
you  for  her  confessor  and  spiritual  director,  and  to  assure  you,  that, 
should  this  be  the  case,  there  will  not  be  in  my  soul,  on  that  account, 
the  least  rancor,  or  the  slightest  dissatisfaction.  1  shall  fully  oompre- 
hiiid  it,  if  her  Majesty  chooses  the  distinguished  and  eminent  Bishop  of 
Winchester  as  her  confessor,  and  the  esteem  and  admiration  which  I 
entertain  for  you  can  only  be  enhanced  thereby.  lu  confirmation  of  this, 
permit  me  to  offer  you  my  hand. 

He  presented  his  hand  to  Gardiner,  who,  however,  took  it  reluctantly 
and  but  for  a  moment. 

Your  Highness  is  very  noble,  and  at  the  same  time  a  very  subtle 
diplomatist,  for  you  only  wish  in  an  adroit  and  ingenious  way  to  give 
me  to  understand  how  1  am  to  act  should  the  Queen  choose  you  for  her 
spiritual  director.  But  that  she  will  do  so,  you  know  as  well  as  I.  It 
is  therefore  for  me  only  a  humiliation  which  etiquette  imposes  when -she 
compels  me  to  stand  here  and  wait  to  see  whether  I  shall  be  chosen,  or 
contemptuously  thrust  aside. 

Wrhy  will  you  look  at  matters  in  so  unfriendly  a  light?  said  Cranmer, 
gently.  Wherefore  will  you  consider  it  a  mark  of  contempt,  if  you  are 
not  chosen  to  an  office,  to  which  indeed  neither  merit  nor  worthiness 
can  call  us,  but  only  the  personal  confidence  of  a  young  woman. 

Oh!  you  admit  that  1  shall  not  be  chosen?  cried  Gardiner,  with  a 
malicious  smile. 

1  have  already  (old  \  on  that  I  am  wholly  uninformed  as  to  the  Queen's 
wish,  and  I  think  it  is  known  that  the  Bishop  of  Canterbury  is  wont  to 
speak  the  truth. 

-tainly  that  is  known,  but  it  is  known  also  that  Catharine  Parr  was. 


1  A 


6 

a  warm  admirer  of  die  Bishop  of  Canterbury,  and  now  that  she  has  gain- 
ed her  end  and  become  queen,  she  will  make  it  her  duty  to  show  her 
gratitude  to  him. 

You  would  by  that  insinuate  that  I  have  made  her  queen.  But  1 
assure  your  Highness,  that  here  also,  as  in  so  many  other  matters,  which 
relate  to  myself,  you  are  falsely  informed. 

Possibly  !  said  Gardiner,  coldly.  At  any  rate,  it  is  certain  that  the 
young  Queen  is  an  ardent  advocate  of  the  abominable  new  doctrine 
which,  like  the  plague,  has  spread  itself  from  Germany  over  all  Europe, 
and  scattered  mischief  and  ruin  through  all  Christendom.  Yes,  Catha- 
rine Fair,  the  present  Queen  leans  to  that  heretic,  against  whom  the 
Holy  Father  at  Rome  has  hurled  his  crushing  anathema.  She  is  an  ad- 
herent of  the  Reformation. 

You  forget,  said  Cranmer,  with  an  arch  smile,  that  this  anathema  was 
hurled  against  the  head  of  our  King  also,  and  that  it  has  shown  itself 
equally  ineffectual  against  Henry  the-  Eighth,  as  against  Luther.  Be- 
sides 1  miyht  remind  you,  that  we  no  longer  call  the  Pope  of  Rome, 
"  Holy  Father,"  and  that  you  yourself  have  recognized  the  King  as  the 
head  of  our  Church. 

Gardiner  turned  away  his  face  in  order  to  conceal  the  vexation  and 
rage  which  distorted  his  features.  He  felt  that  he  had  gone  too  far,  that 
he  had  betrayed  too  much  of  the  secret  thoughts  of  his  soul.  But  he 
could  not  always  control  his  violent  and  passionate  nature;  and  how- 
ever much  a  man  of  the  world  and  diplomatist  he  might  be,  still  there 
were  moments  when  the  fanatical  priest  got  the  better  of  the  man  of  the 
world,  and  the  diplomat©  was  forced  to  give  way  to  the  minister  of  the 
church. 

Cranmer  pitied  Gardiner's  confusion,  and  following  the  native  good- 
ness of  his  heart,  he  said  pleasantly  :  Let  us  not  strive  here  about  dog- 
mas, nor  attempt  to  determine  whether  Luther  or  the  Pope  is  most  in 
the  wrong.  We  stand  here  in  the  chamber  of  the  young  Queen.  Let 
us,  therefore,  occupy  ourselves  a  little  with  the  destiny  of  this  young 
woman,  whom  God  has  chosen  for  so  brilliant  a  lot. 

Brilliant?  said  Gardiner,  shrugging  his  shoulders.  Let  us  first  wait 
for  the  termination  of  her  career,  and  then  decide  whether  it  has  been 
brilliant. 

Many  a  queen  before  this  has  fancied  that  she  was  resting  on  a  couoh 
of  myrtles  and  roses,  and  has  suddenly  become  conscious  that  she  was 
lying  on  a  red  hot  gridiron,  which  consumed  her. 

Id  is  true,  murmured  Cranmer,  with  a  slight  shudder,  it  isla  dangerous 
k)t  to  be  the  King's  consort.  But  just  on  that  account,  let  us  not  make 
the  perils  of  her  position  still  greater,  by  adding  to  them  our  own  en- 
mity and  hate.  Just  on  that  account  1  beg  you,  (and  on  my  part  I 
pledge  you  my  word  for  it)  that,  let  the  choice  of  the  Queen  be  as  it 
.may,  there  may  be  no  feeling  of  anger,  and  no  desire  for  revenge  in 
consequence.  My  God,  the  poor  women  are  such  odd  beiDgs,  so  un- 
accountable in  their  wishes  and  in  their  inclinations  ! 


Ah !  it  seems  yoa  know  the  women  very  intimately,  cried  Gardiner, 
with  a  malicious  laugh.  Verily,  were  you  not  Bishop  of  Canterbury, 
and  had  not  the  King  prohibited  the  marriage  of  ecclesiastics  as  a  very 
grave  crime,  one  mi»ht  suppose  that  you  had  a  wife  yourself,  and  had 
gained  from  her  a  thorough  knowledge  of  female  character. 

Cranmer,  somewhat  embarrassed,  turned  away,  and  seemed  to  evade 
Gardiner's  piercing  look.  We  are  not  speaking  of  myself,  said  he  at 
length,  but  of  the  young  Queen,  and  1  entreat  for  her  your  good  wi?-hes. 
I  have  seen  her  to-day  almost  for  the  first  time,  and  have  never  spoken 
with  her,  but  her  countenance  has  tuuehingly  impressed  me.  and  it  ap- 
peared to  me,  her  looks  besought  us  to  remain  at  her  side,  ready  to 
help  her  on  this  difficult  pathway,  which  five  wives  have  already  trod 
before  her,  and  in  which  they  found  only  misery  and  tears,  disgrace  and 
blood. 

Let  Catharine  beware  then  that  she  does  not  forsake  the  right  way  as 
her  five  predecessors  have  done,  exclaimed  Gardiner.  May  she  be  pru 
dent  and  cautious,  and  may  she  be  enlightened  by  God,  "that  she  may 
hold  the  true  faith,  and  have  true  wisdom,  and  not  allow  herself  to  be 
seduced  into  the  crooked  path  of  the  godless  and  heretical,  but  remain 
faithful  and  steadfast  with  those  of  the  true  faith. 

Who  can  say  who  are  of  the  true  faith?  murmured  Cranmer,  sadly. 
There  are  so  many  paths  leading  to  heaven,  who  knows  which  is  the 
right  one  ?  * 

That  which  we  tread  !  cried  Gardiner,  with  all  the  overweening  pride 
of  a  minister  of  the  church.  Woe  to  the  Queen  should  she  take  any 
other  road  !  Woe  to  her  if  she  lends  her  ear  to  the  false  doctrines 
which  come  ringing  over  here  from  Germany  and  Switzerland,  and  in 
the  worldly  prudence  of  her  heart  imagines  that  she  can  rest  secure.  I 
will  be  her  most  faithful  and  zealous  servant,  if  she  is  with  me  ;  I  will 
be  her  most  implacable  enemy  if  she  is  against  me. 

And  will  you  call  it,  being  against  you,  if  the  Queen  does  not  choose 
you  for  her  confessor. 

Will  you  ask  me  to  call  it,  "being  for  me"? 

Now  God  grant  that  she  may  choose  you  !  exclaimed  Cranmer,  fer 
vently,  as  he  clasped  his  hands  and  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven.  Poor 
unfortunate  Queen  !  The  first  proof  of  thy  husband's  love  may  be  thy 
first  misfortune  !  Why  gave  he  thee  the  liberty  of  choosing  thine  own 
spiritual  director?     Why  did  not  he  choose  for  thee? 

And  Cranmer  dropped  his  head  upon  his  breast,  and  sighed  deeply. 

At  this  instant,  the  door  of  the  royal  chamber  opened,  and  Lady  Jane, 
daughter  of  Earl  Douglas,  and  first  maid  of  honor  to  the  Queen,  made 
her  appearance  on  the  threshold. 

Both  bishops  regarded  her  in  breathless  silence.  It  was  a  serious,  a 
■  solemn  moment,  the  deep  importance  of  which  was  verf  well  compre 
hended  by  all  three. 

Her  Majesty,  tho  Queen,  said  Lady  Jane,  in  an  agitated  voice,  her 
Mnjo.sty  requests  the  presence  of  Lord  Cranmer,  Archbishop  of  Cr. 


bury,  in  her  cabinet,  in  order  that  she  may  perform  her  devotions  with 
him. 

Poor  Queen !  murmured  Cranmer,  as  he  crossed  the  room  to  go  to 
Catharine.     Poor  Queen  !  she  has  just  made  an  implacable  enemy. 

Lady  Jane  waited  till  Cranmer  had  disappeared  through  the  door, 
then  hastened  with  eager  steps  to  the  Bishop  of  Winchester,  and  drop- 
ping on  her  knee,  humbly  said,  Grace,  your  Highness,  grace!  My 
words  were  in  vain,  and  were  not  able  to  shake  her  resolution. 

Gardiner  raided  up  the  kneeling  maiden,  and  forced  a  smile.  It  is 
well,  said  he,  I  doubt  not  of  your  zeal.  You  are  a  true  handmaid  of  the 
church,  and  she  will  love  and  reward  you  for  it  as  a  mother  !  It  is  then 
decided.     The  Queen  is 

Is  a  heretic,  whispered  Lady  Jane.     Woe  to  her! 

And  will  you  be  true,  and  will  you  faithfully  adhere  to  us? 

True,  in  every  thought  of  my  being,  and  every  drop  of  my  heart's 
blood. 

S>>  shall  we  overcome  Catharine  Parr,  as  we  overcame  Catharine 
Howard.  To  the  block  with  the  heretic.  We  found  means  of  bringing 
Catharine  Howard  to  the  scaffold  ;  you,  Lady  Jane,  must  find  the  means 
of  leading  Catharine  Parr  the  same  way. 

I  will  find  them,  said  Lady  Jane,  quietly.  She  loves  and  trusts  me. 
I  will  betray  her  friendship  in  order  to  remain  true  to  my  religion. 

Catharine  Parr  then  is  lost,  said  Gardiner,  aloud. 

Yes — she  is  lost,  responded  Earl  Douglas,  who  had  just  entered,  and 
cau«ht  the  last  words  of  the  bishop.  Yes,  she  is  lost,  for  we  are  her  in- 
exorable and  ever  vigilant  enemies.  But  I  deem  it  not  altogether  pru- 
dent to  utter  words  like  these  in  the  Queen's  drawing-room.  Let  us 
therefore  choose  a  more  favorable  hour  !  Besides,  your  Highness,  you 
Tnust  betake  yourself  to  the  grand  reception  hall,  where  the  whole  court 
is  already  assembled,  and  now  only  awaits  the  King  to  go  in  formal 
procession  for  the  young  Queen,  and  conduce  her  to  the  balcony.  Let 
us  go  then. 

Gardiner  nodded  in  silence,  and  betook  himself  to  the  reception  hall. 

Earl  Douglas  with  his  daughter  followed  him.  Catharine  Parr  is  lost, 
whispered  he  in  Lady  Jane's  ear.  Catharine  Parr  is  lost,  and  you  shall 
be  the  King's  seventh  wife. 

Whilst  this  was  passing  in  the  drawing  room,  the  young  Queen  was 
on  her  knees  before  Cranmer,  and  with  him  sending  up  to  God  fervent 
prayers  for  prosperity  and  peace.  Tears  filled  her  eyes,  and  her  heart 
trembled  as  if  before  some  approaching  calamity. 


CHAPTER  ir. 

THE  QUEEN  AND  1IKU    FRIEND. 

•  At  last  this  long  day  of  ceremonies  and  festivities  drew  near  its  close, 
and  Catharine  might  soon  hope  to  be,  for  the  time,  relieved  from  this 
endless  presenting  and  smiling,  from  this  ever  renewed  homage.      • 

At  her  husband's  side  she  had  shown  herself  on  the  balcony  to  receive 
the  greeting*  of  the  people,  and  to  bow  her  thanks.  Then  in  the  spacious 
audience  chamber,  her  newly  appointed  Court  had  passed  before  her  in 
formal  procession,  and  she  had  exchanged  a  few  meaningless,  friendly 
words  with  each  of  these  lords  and  ladies.  Afterwards  she  had,  at  her 
husband's  side,  given  audience  to  the  deputations  from  the  city  and 
from  Parliament.  But  it  was  only  with  a  secret  shudder  that  she  had 
received  from  their  lips  the  same  congratulations  and  praises  with  which 
the  authorities  had  already  greeted  five  other  wives  of  the  King. 

Still  s1m>  hnd  been  able  to  smile  and  seem  happy,  for  she  well  knew 
that  the  King's  eye  was  never  ofFof  her,  and  that  all  these  lords  and 
ladies  who  now  met  her  with  such  deference,  and  with  homage  apparent- 
ly so  sincere,  were  yet,  in  truth,' all  her  bkter  enemies.  For  by  her 
marriage  she  had  destroyed  so  many  hopes,  she  had  pushed  aside  so 
many  who  believed  themselves  better  fitted  to  assume  the  lofty  position 
of  queen.  She  knew  that  these  victims  of  disappointment  would  never 
forgive  her  this,  that  she,  who  was  but  yesterday  their  equal,  had  to-day 
soared  above  them  as  queen  and  mistress;  she  knew  that  all  these 
were  watching  with  spying  eyes  her  every  word  and  action,  in  order,  it 
might  be,  to  forge  therefrom  an  accusation  of  a  death  warrant. 

But  nevertheless  she  smiled  !  She  smiled,  though  she  felt  that  the 
choler  of  the  King,  so  easily  kindled  and  so  cruelly  vindictive,  ever 
swung  over  her  head  like  the  sword  of  Damocles. 

She  smiled  so  that  this  sword  might  not  not  fall  upon  her. 

At  length  all  these  presentations,  this  homage  and  rejoicing  were  well 
over,  and  they  came  to  the  more  agreeable  and  satisfactory  part  of  the 
feast. 

They  went  to  dinner."  That  was  Catharine's  first  moment  of  respite, 
of  rest.  For  when  Henry  the  Eighth  seated  himself  at  table,  he  was  no 
longer  the  haughty  monarch  and  the  jealous  husband,  but,  merely  the 
proficient  artiste  and  the  impassioned  gourmand  ;  and  whether  the  pasty 
was  well  seasoned,  and  the  pheasant  of  good  flavor,  was  for  him  then  a 
far  more  important  question  than  any  concerning  the  weal  of  his  people, 
and  tho  prosperity  of  his  kingdom. 

But  after  dinner  came  another  respite,  a  new  enjoyment,  and  this 


Ill 

* 

time  a  more  real  one,  which  indeed  for  a  while  banished  all  gloomy 
forebodings  and  melancholy  fears  from  Catharine's  heart,  and  suffused 
her  countenance  with  the  rosy  radiance  of  cheerfulness  and  happy  smiles. 
For  King  Henry  had  prepared  for  his  young  wife  a  peculiar  and  alto- 
gether novel  surprise.  He  had  caused  to  be  erected  in  the  palace  of 
Whitehall  a  stage,  whereon  was  represented  by  the  nobles  of  the  Court, 
a  comedy  from  Plautus.  Heretofore  there  had  been  no  other  theatrical 
exhibitions  than  those  which  the  people  performed  on  the  high  festivals 
of  the  Church,  the  Morality  and  the  Mystery  plays.  King  Henry  the 
Eighth  was  the  first  who  had  a  stage  erected  for  worldly  amusement 
likewise,  and  caused  to  be  represented  on  it  subjects  other  than  mere 
dramatized  Church  history.  As  he  freed  the  Church  from  its  spiritual 
head,  the  Pope,  so  he  wished  to  free  the  stage  from  the  Church,  and  to 
behold  upon  it  other  more  lively  Spectacles  than  the  roasting  of  saints 
and  the  massacre  of  inspired  nuns. 

And  why,  too,  represent  such  mock  tragedies  on  the  stage,  when  the 
King  was  daily  performing  them  in  reality?  The  burning  of  Christian 
martyrs  and  inspired  virgins  was,  under  the  reign  of  the  Christian  King 
Henry,  such  a  usual  and  every  day  occurrence  that  it  could  afford  a 
piquant  entertainment  neither  to  the  Court  nor  to  himself. 

But  the  representation  of  a  Roman  comedy,  that,  however  was  a  new 
and  piquant  pleasure,  a  surprise  for  the  young  Queen.  He  had  the 
"Curculio"  played  before  his  wife,  and  if  Catharine  indeed  could  listen 
to  the  licentious  and  shameless  jests  of  the  popular  Roman  poet,  only 
with  bashful  blushes,  Henry  was  so  much  the  more  delighted  by  it,  and 
accompanied  the  obscenest  allusions  and  the  most  indecent  jests  with 
his  uproarious  laughter  and  loud  shouts  of  applause. 

At  length  this  festivity  was  also  over  with,  and  Catharine  was  now 
permitted  to  retire  with  her  attendants  to  her  private  apartments. 

With  a  pleasant'smile,  she  dismissed  her  cavaliers,  and  bade  her  wo- 
men and  her  second  maid  of  honor,  Anne  Askew,  go  into  her  boudoir 
and  await  her  call.  Then  she  gave  her  arm  to  her  friend  Lady  Jane 
Douglas,  and  with  her  entered  her  cabinet. 

At  last  she  was  alone ;  at  last  un watched.  The  smile  disappeared  from 
her  face,  and  an  expression  of  deep«adness  was  stamped  upon  her  features. 

Jane,  said  she,  prythee  shut  the  doors  and  draw  the  window  curtains, 
so  that  nobody  can  see  me,  nobody  hear  me.  No  one  except  yourself, 
iuy  friend,  the  companion  of  my  happy  childhood.  Oh,  my  God,  my 
God  why  was  1  so  foolish  as  to  leave  my  father's  quiet  lonely  castle 
und  «o  out  into  the  world,  which  is  so  full  of  terror  and  horror  ? 

She  sighed  and  groaned  deeply  ;  and  burying  her  face  in  her  hands, 
she  sank  upon  the  ottoman,  weeping  and  trembling. 

Lady  Jane  observed  her  with  a  peculiar  smile  of  .malicious  satisfaction. 

She  is  queen  and  she  weeps,  said  she  to  herself.  My  God,  how  can 
a  woman  possibly  feel  unhappy,  and  she  a  queen  ? 

She  approached  Catharine  and  seating  herself  on  the  tabouret  at  her 
feet,  she  impressed  a  fervent  kiss  on  the  Queen's  drooping  hand. 


Your  Majesty  weeping!  said  sho  in  her  most  insinuate  tone.  My 
God,  you  are  then  unhappy,  and  1  received  with  a  loud  ci-tf  of  joy,  the 
news  of  my  fiend's  unexpected  good  fortune.  I  thought  to  meet  a 
queen,  proud,  happy  and  radiant  with  joy  ;  and  I  was  anxious  and  fear- 
ful lest  the  Queen  might  have  ceased  to  my  fiend.  Wherefore,  I  urged 
my  father,  as  soon  as  your  command  reached  us,  to  leave  Dublin  and 
hasten  with  me  hither.  Oh,  my  God.  I  wished  to  see  you  in  your  hap- 
piness and  in  your  greatness. 

Catharine  removed  her  hands  from  her  face  and  looked  down  at  her 
friend  with  a  sorrowful  smile. 

Well,  said  she,  are  you  not  satisfied,  with  what  you  have  seen  1 
Have  1  not  the  whole  day  displayed  to  you  the  smiling  queen,  worn  a 
dress  embroidered  with  gold  ;  did  not  my  neck  glitter  with  diamonds, 
did  not  the  royal  diadem  shine  in  my  hair,  and  sat  not  t  hewing  by  my 
side?  Let  that  then  be  sufficient  for  the  present.  You  have  seen  the 
queen  all  day  long.  Allow  me  now  for  one  brief,  happy  moment  to 
be  again  the  feeling,  sensitive  woman,  who  can  pour  into  the  bosom  of 
her  friend  all  her  complaint  and  her  wretchedness.  Ah  Jane,  if  you 
knew  how  I  have  longed  for  this  hour,  how  I  have  sighed  after  you  as 
the  only  balm  for  my  poor  smitten  heart,  smitten  even  to  death,  how  I 
^iave  implored  heaven  for  this  day,  for  this  one  thing — give  me. back  my 
Jane,  so  that  she  can  weep  with  me,  so  that  1  may  have  one  being  at, 
ray  side  \*  ho  understands  me,  and  does  not  allow  herself  to  be  Imposed 
upon  by  the  wretched  splendor  of  this  outward  display* 

Poor  Catharine  !  whispered  lady  Jane,  poor  Queen  !  Catharine  start- 
ed and  laid  her  hand  sparkling  with  brilliants  on  Jane's  lips. 

Call  me  not  thus  !  said  she.  Queen  !  my  God,  is  not  all  the  frarful 
past  heard  again  in  that  word  1  Q  leen  !  Is  it  not  asSmuch  as  to  say, 
condemned  to  the  scaffold  and  a  public  criminal  trial  ?  Ah  Jane  !  a 
deadly  tremor  runs  through  my  members.  I  am  Henry  the  Eighth's 
sixth  Queen — I  shall  also  be  executed,  or,  loaded  with  disgrace,  be  re- 
pudiated. 

Again  she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  her  whole  frame  shook.  So 
she  saw  not  the  smile  of  malicious  satisfaction  with  which  Lady  Jane 
again  observed  her — She  suspected  not  with  what  secret  delight  her 
friend  heard  her  lamentations  and  sighs. 

Oh!  I  am  at  least  revenged  !  thought  Jane  while  she  lovingly  stroked 
the  Queen's  hair.  Yes,  I  am  revenged  !  She  has  robbed  met,of  a  crown, 
but. she  is  wretched — And  in  the  golden  goblet  which  she  presses  to  her 
lips  she  will  find  nothing  but  wormwood  !  Now,  if  this  sixl  h  Queen  dies 
not  on  the  scaffold,  still  we  may  perhaps  so  work  it,  that  she  dies  of 
anxiety  ;  or  deems  it  a  pleasure  to  be  able  to  lay  down  aqain  her  royal 
crown  at  Henry's  feet. 

Then  said  she  aloud  :  But  why  these  fears,  Catharine  ?  The  King 
loves  you  ;  the  whole  Court  has  seen  with  what  tender  and  ardent  looks 
he  has  regarded  you  to-day,  and  with  what  delight  he  has  listened  to 
your  every  word — Certainly  the  King  loves  you  ! 


12 

Catharinevc'Zed  her  hand  impulsively.  The  King  hoves  me,  whisper- 
ed she,  and  r;  I  tremble  before  him — Yes,  more  than  that,  his  love  fills 
me  with  horror!  His  hands  are  dipped  in  blood,  and  as  I  saw  him  to- 
day in  his  crimson  robes,  I  shuddered,  and  I  thought  how  soon,  and  my 
blood  too  will  dye  this  crimson  ! 

Jane  smiled.  You  are  sick,  Catharine,  said  she.  This  good  fortune 
has  taken  y  tt  by  surprise,  and  your  overstrained  nerves  now  depict  be- 
fore you  airports  of  frightful  forms.     That  is  all. 

No,  no,  Jane,  these  thoughts  have  ever  been  with  me.  They  have  at- 
tended me  ever  since  the  King  selected  me  for  his  wife. 

And  why  then  did  you  not  refuse  him?  asked  Lady  Jane.  Why  did 
you  not  say  no,  to  the  King's  suit  ? 

Why  did  I  not  do  it,  ask  you  ?  Ah  Jane,  are  yon  such  a  stranger  at 
this  Court  as  not  to  know  then  that  one  must  either  fulfil  the  King's  be- 
hests or  die?  My  God,  they  envy  me  !  They  call  me  the  greatest  and 
most  potent  woman  of  England — They  know  not  that  I  am  poorer  and 
more  powerless  than  the  beggar  of  the  street,  who  at  least  has  the  pow- 
er to  refuse  whom  she  will.  1  could  not  refuse.  1  must  either  die,  or 
accept  the  royal  hand  which  was  extended  to  me.  And  I  would  not 
die  yet,  1  have  still  so  many  claims  on  life  and  it  has  hitherto  made  good 
so  few  of  them  !  Ah,  my  poor  hapless  existence,  what  has  it  been,  but* 
an  endless  chain  of  renunciations  and  deprivations;  of  leafless  flowers 
and  dissolving  views?  h  is  true,  I  have  never  learned  to  know  what  is 
usually  called  misfortune.  But  is  there  a  greater  misfortune  than  not 
to  be  happy,  than  to  sigh  through  a  life  without  wish  or  hope,  to  wear 
:iway  the  endless  weary  days  of  an  existence  without  delight,  yet  sur- 
rounded with  luxury  and  splendor? 

^ou  were  not  unfortunate,  and  yet  you  are  an  orphan,  fatherless  and 
motherless  ? 

I  lost  my  mother  so  early  that  I  scarcely  knew  her.  And  when  my 
father  died,  I  could  hardly  consider  it  other  than  a  blessing,  for  he  had 
never  shown  himself  a  father,  but  always  only  as  a  harsh,  tyrannical 
master  to  me. 

But  you  were  married  ? 

Married!  said  Catharine  with  a  melancholy  smile.  That  is  to  say, 
my  father  sold  me  to  a  gouty  old  man,  on  whose  couch  1  spent  a  few 
comfortless,  awfully  wearisome  years,  till  Lork  Neville  made  me  a  rich 
widow.  But,  what  did  my  independence  avail  me,  when  1  had  bound 
myself  in  new  fetters?  Hitherto  I  had  been  the  slave  of  my  father,  of 
my  husband  :  now,  I  was  the  slave  of  my  wealth.  I  ceased  to  be  a  sick- 
nurse  to  became  steward  of  my  estate.  Ah  !  this  was  the  most  tedious 
period  of  my  life.  And  yet  I  owe  to  it  my  only  real. happiness,  for  at 
that  period  I  become  acquainted  with  you,  my  Jane,  and  my  heart, 
whiuh  had  never  yet  learned  to  know  a  tenderer  feeling,  flew  to  you  with 
all  the  impetuosity  of  a  first  passion.  Believe  me,  my  Jane,  when  this 
long  missing  nephew  of  my  husband  came  and  snatched  away  from  me 
his  hereditary  estate,  and  as  the  lord   took   possession  of  it,  then  the 


13 

thought  that  I  must  leave  you  and  your  father,  the  neighboring  proprie- 
tor, was  my  only  grief — Men  commiserated  me  on  account  of  my  lost 
property.  I  thanked  God  that  he  had  relieved  me  of  tlfiVJoad,  and  I 
started  for  London,  that  I  might  at  last  live  and  feel,  that  1  might  learn 
to  know  real  happiness  or  real  misery. 

And  what  did  you  find  1 

Misery,  Jane,  for  I  am  queen. 

Js  that  your  sole  unhappiness  ? 

My  only  one,  but  it  is  great  enough,  for  it  condemns  mc  to  eternal 
anxiety,  to  eternal  dissimulation.  It  condemns  me  to  feign  a  love  which 
I  do  not  feel,  to  endure  care?ses  which  make  me  shudder,  because  they 
are  an  inheritance  from  five  unfortunate  women — Jane,  Jane,  do  you 
comprehend  what  it  is  to  be  obliged  to  embrace  a  man,  who  has  mur- 
dered three  wives,  and  put  away  two1?  to  be  obliged  to  kiss  this  King 
whose  lips  open  just  as  readily  to  utter  vows  of  love,  as  sentences  of 
death?  Ah,  Jane,  I  speak,  I  live,  and  still  I  suffer  all  the  agonies  of 
death  !  They  call  me  a  queen,  and  yet  I  tremble  for  my  life  every  hour, 
and  conceal  my  anxiety  and  fear  beneath  the  appearance  of  happiness ! 
My  God,  I  am  five  and  twenty,  and  my  heart  is  still  the  heart  of  a  chilJ  ; 
it  does  not  yet  know  itself,  and  now  it  is  doomed  never  to  learn  to  know 
itself;  for  I  am  Henry's  wife,  and  to  love  another  is,  in, other  words,  to 
wish  to  mount  the  scaffold.  The  scaffold  !  Look.  Jane.  When  the 
King  approached  me  and  confessed  his  love  and  offered  me  his  hand, 
suddenly  there  rose  before  me  a  fearful  picture.  It  was  no  more  the 
King  whom  I  saw  before  me,  but  the  hangman  ;  and  it  seemed  to  me 
that  I  saw  three  corpses  lying  at  his  feet,  and  with  a  loud  scream  I  sank 
senseless  before  him.  When  1  revived  the  King  was  holding  me  in  his 
arms.  The  shock  of  this  unexpected  good  fortune,  he  thought,  had  made 
me  faint.  lie  kissed  me  and  called  me  his  bride  ;  he  thought  not  for  a 
moment  that  I  could  refuse  him.  And  I,  despise  me,  Jane,  I  was  such  a 
dastard,  that  I  could  not  summon  up  courage  for  a  downright  refusal. 
Yes,  I  was  so  craven  also,  as  to  be  unwilling  to  die.  Ah,  my  God,  it 
appeared  to  me  that  life,  at  that  moment  beckoned  to  me  with  thousands 
°f  j°ys»  thousands  of  charms,  which  I  had  never  known,  and  for  which 
my  soul  thirsted  as  for  the  manna  in  the  Wilderness.  I  would  live,  live 
at  any  cost.  I  would  gain  myself  a  respite,  so  that  I  might  once  more 
share  happiness,  love,  and  enjoyment.  Look,  Jane,  men  call  me  ambi- 
tious. They  say  I  have  given  my  hand  to  Henry,  because  he.  is  King.  ■ 
Ah,  they  know  not  how  1  shuddered  at  this  royal  crown.  They  know 
not  that  in  anguish  of  heart,  I  besought  the,  King  not  to  bestof/  his  hand 
upon  me,  and  thereby  rouse  all  the  ladies  of  his  kingdom  as  foes  against 
me.  They  know  not  that  I  confessed  that  I  loved  him,  merely  that  I 
might  be  able  to  add,  that  1  was  ready,  out  of  love  to  him,  to  sacrifice 
my  own  happiness  to  his,  and  so  conjured  him  to  choose  a  consort  worthy 
of  himself,  from  the.  hereditary  princcsso>  of  Europe.*     But  Henry  re- 

•  La  vie  <f  Elizabeth,  Retne  d'Anjjleterre,  Traduite  <lo  l'ltalicn  de  Monsieur  Gregoire  Letf,  2  vol. 
Amsterdam,  IC94. 


14 

jected  my  sacrifice.  lie  wished  to  make  a  queen,  in  order  to  possess  a 
wife,  who  tnay  be  his  own  property,  whose  blood,  as  her  lord  and  mas- 
ter, he  can 'shed.  So  I  am  Queen.  I  have  accepted  my  lot,  and  hence- 
forth my  existence  will  be  a  ceaseless  struggle  and  wrestling  with  death. 
I  will  at  least  sell  my  life  as  dearly  as  possible;  and  the  maxim  which 
Cranmer  has  given  me  shall  hereafter  be  my  guide  on  the  thorny  path 
of  life! 

And  how  nms  this  maxim  ?  asked  Jane — 

Be  wise  as  serpents  and  harmless  as  doves,  replied  Catharine,  with  a 
languid  smile,  as  she  dropped  her  head  upon  her  breast  and  surrendered 
herself  to  her  painful  and  foreboding  reflections. 

Lady  Jane  stood  opposite  to  her,  and  gazed  with  cruel  composure  up- 
on the  painfully  convulsed  countenance  and  at  times  violently  trembling 
form  of  the  young  Queen,  for  whom  all  England  that  day  kept  festival, 
and  who  yet  was  sitting  before  her  so  wretched,  and  full  of  sorrow. 

Suddenly  Catharine  raised  her  head.  Her  countenance  had  now  as- 
sumed an  entirely  different  expression.  It  was  now  firm,  resolute  and 
dauntless.  With  a  slight  inclination  of  the  head,  she  extended  her  hand 
to  Lady  Jane,  and  drew  her  friend  more  closely  to  her. 

I  thank  you,  Jane,  said  she,  as  she  imprinted  a  kiss  upon  her  forehead. 
I  thank  you  !  You  have  done  my  heart  good  and  relieved  it  of  its  op- 
pressive load  of  secret  anguish.  He  who  can  give  his  grief  utterance,  is 
already  half  cured  of  it.  I  thank  you,  then,  Jane!  Henceforth,  you 
will  find  me  calm  and  cheerful.  The  woman  has  wept  before  you,  but 
the  Queen  is  aware  that  she  has  a  task  to  accomplish  as  difficult  as  it  is 
noble,  and  1  give  you  my  word  for  it,  she  will  accomplish  it.  The  new 
light  which  has  risen  on  the  world  shall  no  more  be  dimmed  by  blood 
and  tears,  and  no  more  in  this  unhappy  land,  shall  men  of  sense  and  pie- 
ty be  condemned  as  insurgents  and  traitors  !  This  is  the  task  which 
God  has  set  me,  and  I  swear  that  I  will  accomplish  it !  Will  you  help- 
me  in  this,  too,  Jane  1 

Lady  Jane  responded  faintly  in  a  few  words,  which  Catharine  did  not 
understand,  and  as  she  looked  up  to  her,  she  noticed,  with  astonishment, 
the  corpse-like  pallor  which  had  suddenly  overspread  the  countenance  of 
her  maid  of  honor. 

Catharine  gave  a  start  and  fixed  on  her  face  a  surprised  and  searching 
look. 

Lady  Jane  cast  down  her  eyes  before  that  searching  and  flashing 
glance.  Her  fanaticism  had  for  the  moment  got  the  better  of  her,  and 
much  as  she  was  wont  at  other  times  to  hide  her  thoughts  and  feelings, 
it  had,  at  that  moment,  carried  her  away  and  betrayed  her  to  the  keen 
eye  of  her  friend. 

It  is  now  a  long  while  since  we  saw  each  other,  said  Catharine  sadly. 
Three  years !  It  is  a  long  time  for  a  young  girl's  heart!  And  you 
were  those  three  years  with  your  father  in  Dublin,  at  that  rigidly  popish 
court.  I  did  not  consider  that !  But  however  much  your  opinions  may 
have  changed,  your  heart,  I  know,  still  remains  the  same,  and  you  will 


15 

ever  be  the  proud,  high- minded  Jane,  of  former  days,  who  could  never 
stoop  to  tell  a  lie — no,  not  even  if  this  lie  would  procure  her  profit  and. 
glory.  I  ask  you  then,  Jane,  what  is  your  religion  1  Do  you  believe 
in  the  Pope  of  Rome,  and  the  Church  of  Rome  as  the  only  channel  of 
salvation'?  or  do  you  follow  the  new  teaching  which  Luther  and  Calvin 
have  promulgated  ? 

Lady  Jane  smiled.  Would  I  have  risked  appearing  before  you,  if  1 
still  reckoned  mysglf  of  tho  Roman  Catholic  Church  ?  Catharine  Parr 
is'hailed  by  the  Protestants  of  England,  as  the  new  patroness  of  the  per- 
secuted doctrine,  and  already  the  Romish  priests  hurl  their  anathemas 
against  you,  and  execrate  you  and  your  dangerous  presence  here.  And 
you  ask  me,  whether  1  am  an  adherent  of  that  Church  which  maligns 
and  damns  you  1  You  ask  me  whether  I  believe  in  the  Pope,  who  has 
laid  the  King  under  an  interdict,  the  King,  who  is  not  only  my  Lord 
and  Master,  but  also  the  husband  of  my  precious  and  noble  Catharine  % 
Oh,  Queen,  you  love  me  not  when  you  can  address  such  a  question 
,  to  me.. 

And  as  if  overcome  by  painful  emotion,  Lady  Jane  sank  down  at 
^Catharine's  feet,  and  hid  her  head  in  the  folds  of  the  Queen's  robe. 

Catharine  bent  down  to  raise  her  and  take  her  to  her  heart.  Sudden- 
ly she  started,  and  a  deathly  paleness  overspread  her  face.  The  King, 
whispered  she,  the  King  is  coming — 


CHAPTER  111. 

KINO    HENRY    THE    EIGHT!!. 

Catharine  was  not  deceived.  The  doors  were  opened,  and  on  the 
threshold  appeared  the  Lord  Marshal,  with  his  golden  mace. 

His  Majesty,  the  King  !  whispered  he,  in  his  grave,  solemn  manner, 
which  filled  Catharine  with  secret  dread,  as  though  ho  were  pronouncing 
the  sentence  of  death  over  her. 

But  she  forced  a  smile  and  advanced  to  the  door  to  receive  the  King. 
Now  was  heard  a  thunder-like  rumble,  and  over  the  smoothly  carpeted 
floor  of  the  ante-room  came  rolling  on  the  King's  house  equipage.  This 
house  equipage  consisted  of  a  large  chair,  resting  ou  castors,  which  was 
moved  by  men  in  the  place  of  horses,  and  to  which  they  had,  with  art- 
ful flattery,  given  the  form  of  a  triumphal  car  of  the  old  victorious  Ro- 
man Caesars,  in  order. to  afford  the  King,  as  he  rolled  through  the  halls, 
the  pleasant  illusion  that  he  was  holding  a  triumphal  procession,  and 
that  it  was  not  the  burden  of  his  heavy  limbs  which  fastened  him  to  his 


J6 

imperial  car.  King  Henry  gave  ready  credence  to  the  flattery  of  his 
truckle- chair  and  his  courtiers,  and  as  he  rolled  along  in  it  through  the 
saloons  glitttring  with  gold,  and  thro'  halls  adorned  with  Venitian  mir- 
rors, which  reflected  his  form  a  thousand  fold,  he  liked  to  lull  himself 
into  the  dream  of  being  a  triumphing  hero,  and  wholly  forgot  that  it  was 
not  his  deeds,  but  his  fat,  that  had  helped  him  to  his  triumphal  car. 

For  that  monstrous  mass  which  filled  up  the  colossal  chair,  that 
mountain  of  purple-clad  flesh,  that  clumsy,  almost  ?hapeless  shape,  that 
was  Henry  the  Eigth,  King  of  merry  England.  But  that  mass  had  a 
head — a  head  full  of  dark  and  wrathful  thoughts,  a  heart  full  of  blood- 
thirsty and  cruel  lusts.  The  colossal  body  was  indeed,  by  its  physical 
weight,  fastened  to  the  chair.  Yet  his  mind  never  rested,  but  he  hover- 
ed, with  the  talons  and  flashing  eye  of  the  bird  of  prey,  over  his  people, 
ever  ready  to  pounce  upon  some  innocent  dove,  to  drink  her  blood  and 
tear  out  her  heart,  that  he  might  lay  it,  all  palpitating,  as  an  offering  on 
the  altar  of  his  sanguinary  god. 

The  King's  sedan  now  stopped,  and  Catharine  hastened  forward  with' 
smiling  face,  to  assist  her  royal  husband  in-alighting. 

Henry  greeted  her  with  a  gracious  nod,  and  rejected  the  proffered  aifl 
of  the  attendant  pages. 

Away,  said  he,  away  !  My  Catharine  alone  shall  extend  me  her  hand, 
and  give  me  a  welcome  to  the  bridal-chamber.  Go,  we  feel  to-day  as 
young  and  strong  as  in.  our  best  and  happiest  days,  and  the  young  Queen 
shall  see,  that  it  is  no  decrepid  greybeard,  tottering  with  age,  who  woos 
her,  but  a  strong  man  rejuvenated  by  love.  Think  not,  Kate,  that  I  use 
my  car  because  of  weakness.  No,  it  was  only  my  longing  for  you 
which  made  me  wish  to  be  with  you  the  sooner. 

He  kissed  her  with  a  smile,  and  lightly  leaning  on  her  arm,  alighted 
from  his  car. 

Away  with  the  equipage,  and  with  all  of  you  !  said  he,  we  wish  to  be 
alone  with  this  beautiful  young  wife,  whom  the  Lord  Bishops  have  to- 
day made  our  own. 

At  a  signal  from  his  hand,  the  brilliant  cortege  withdrew,  and  Catha- 
rine was  alone  with  the  King. 

Her  heart  beat  so  wildly  that  it  made  her  lips  tremble,  and  her  bosom 
swell  high. 

Henry  saw  it  and  smiled  ;  but  it  was  a  cold,  cruel  smile,  and  Catha- 
rine grew  pale  before  it. 

He  has  only  the  smile  of  a  tyrant;  said  she  to  herself.  With  this 
same  smile,  by  which  he  would  now  give  expression  to  his  love,  he  yes- 
terday, perhaps,  sigued  a  death-warrant,  or  will,  to-morrow,  witness  an 
execution. 

Do  you  love  me,  Kate  1  suddenly  said  the  King,  who  had  till  now 
'  observed  her  in  silence  and  thoughtfulness.     Say,  Kate,  do  you  love  me  ? 

He  looked  steadily  into  her  .eyes,  as  though  he  would  read  her  soul  to 
the  very  bottom. 

Catharine  sustained  his  look,  and  did  not  drop  her  eyes.    She  felt  that 


17 

this  was  the  decisive  moment  which  determined  her  whole  future  ;  and- 
this  conviction  restored  to  her  all  her  self-possession  and  energy. 

She  was  now  no  longer  the  shy,  timid  girl,  but  the  resolute,  proud 
woman,  who  was  ready  to  wrestle  with  fate  for  greatness  and  glory. 

Do'you  love  me,  Kate?  repeated  the  King,  and  his  brow  already  be- 
gan to  darken. 

I  know  not!  said  Catharine  with  a  smile,  which  enchanted'the  King, 
for  there  was  quite  as  much  graceful  coquettry  as  bashfulness  on  her 
charming  face. 

You  know  not?  replied  Henry,  astonished.  Now,  by  the  Mother  of 
God,  it  is  the  first  time  in  my  life  that  a  woman  has  ever  been  bold 
enough  to  return  me  such  an  answer!  You  are  a  bold  woman,  Kate, 
to  hazard  it,  and  1  praise,  you  for  it  I  love  bravery  because  it  is  some- 
thing I  so  rarely  see.  They  all  tremble  before  me,  Kate.  All !  They 
know  that  I  am  not  intimidated  by  blood,  and  in  the  might  of  my  royal- 
ty, I  subscribe  a  death-warrant  with  the  same  calmness  of  soul  as  a  love 
letter. 

Oh,  you  are  a  great  King,  murmured  Catharine. 

Henry  did  not  notice  her.  He  was  wholly  buried  in  one  of  those 
self  contemplations,  to  which  he  so  willingly  surrendered  himself,  and 
which  generally  had  for  their  subject  his  own  greatness  and  sover- 
eignty. 

Yes,  continued  he,  and  his  eyes  which,  in  spite  of  his  corpulency  and 
his  extremely  fleshy  face,  were  yet  large  and  wide  open,  shone  more 
brightly. 

Yes,  they  all  tremble  before  me,  for  they  know  that  I  am  a  righteous 
and  powerful  King,  who  spares  not  his  own  blood,  if  it  is  necessary, to 
punish  and  expiate  crime,  and  with  inexorable  hand,  punishes  the  sinner, 
though  he  were  the  nearest  to  the  throne.  Take  heed  to  yourself,  there- 
fore, Kate,  take  heed  to  yourself.  You  behold  in  me  the  avenger  of 
God,  and  the  judge  of  men.  The  King  wears  the  crimson,  not  because 
it  is  beautiful  and  glossy,  but  because  it  is  red  like  blood,  and  because 
it  is  the  King's  highest  prerogative  to  shed  the  blood  of  his  delinquent 
subjects,  and  thereby  expiate  human  crime.  Thus  only  do  I  conceive 
of  royalty,  and  thus  only  will  I  carry  it  out  till  the  end  of  my  days. 
Not  the  right  to  pardon,  but  the  right  to  punish,  is  that  whereby  tho 
•ruler  manifests  himself  before  the  lower  classes  of  mankind.  God's 
thunder  should  be  on  his  lips,  and  the  King's  wrath  should  descend  like 
lightning  on  the  head  of  the  guilty. 

But  God  is  not  only  wrathful,  but  also  merciful  and  forgiving,  said 
Catharine,  as  she  lightly  and  shyly  leant  her  head  on  the  King's  shoul- 
der. 

Just  that  is  the  prerogative  of  God  above  kings,  that  Ho  can,  as  it 
pleases  him,  show  mercy  and  grace,  where  we  can  only  condemn  and 
punish.  There  must  be  something  in  which  God  is  superior  to  kmcrs, 
and  greater  than  they.  But  how,  Kate, "you  tremble}  and  the  lovely 
smile  has  vanished  from  your  countenance !     Be  not  afraid  of  me,  Kate  ! 


16 

Be  always  frsmk  with  me,  and  without  deceit ;  then  I  6hall  always  love 
you,  and  miquity  will  then  have  no  power  over  you!  And  now,  Kate, 
tell  me,  a»d  explain  to  me.     You  do  not  know  that  you  love  me?  • 

No,  I  do  not  know,  your  Majesty.  And  how  should  I  be  able  to  re- 
cognize, and  know,  and  designate  by  name,  what  is  strange  to  me,  and 
what  1  have  never  before  felt ? 

How,  ybu  have  never  loved,  Kate?  asked  the  King  with  a  joyful  ex- 
pression. 

Never !  My  father  maltreated  me,  so  that  [  could  feel  for  him  nothing 
but  dread  and  terror. 

And  your  husband,  child  ?  That  man  who  was  my  predecessor  in 
the  possession  o/you.     Did  you  not  love  your  husband  either? 

My  husband?  asked  she,  abstractedly.  It  is  true  my  father  sold  me 
to  Lord  Neville,  and  as  the  priest  had  joined  our  hands,  men  called  him 
my  husbaud.  But  he  very  well  knew  that  I  did  not  love  him,  nor  did 
he  require  my  love.  He  needed  a  nurse,  not  a  wife.  He  had  given  me 
his  name  as  a  father  gives  his  to  a  daughter — and  I  was  his  daughter,  a 
true,  faithful  and  obedient  daughter,  who  joyfully  fulfilled  her  duty  and 
tended  him  till  his  death. 

And  after  his  death,  child  ?  Years  have  elapsed  since  then,  Kate. 
Tell  me,  and  I  conjure  you,  tell  me  the  truth,  the  simple  plain  truth  ! 
After  the  death  of  your  husband,  then  even,  did  you  never  love  ? 

He  gazed  with  visible  anxiety,  with  breathless  expectation,  deep  into 
her  eyes ;  but  she  did  not  drop  them,' 

Sire,  said  she,  with  a  charming  smile,  till  a  few  weeks  past,  I  have 
often  mourned  over  myself;  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  must,  in  the 
desperttion  of  my  singular  and  cold  nature,  lay  open  my  breast,  in  order 
to  search  there  for  the  heart,  which,  senseless  and  cold,  had  never  be- 
trayed its  existence  by  its  stronger  beating.  Oh,  Sire,  I  was  full  of  trouble 
about  myself,  and  in  my  foolish  rashness,  1  accused  heaven  of  having 
robbed  me  of  the  noblest  feeling  and  the  fairest  privilege  of  any  woman 
— the  capacity  for  loving. 

Till  the  past  few  weeks,  did  you  say,  Kate?  asked  the  King,  breath 
less  with  emotion. 

Yes,  Sire,  until  the  day  on  which  you,  for  the  first  time,  graciously* 
afforded  »ie  the  happiness  of  speaking  with  me. 

The  King  uttered  a  low  cry,  and  drew  Catharine  with  impetuous  ve- 
hemence into  his  arms. 

And  since,  tell  me  now,  you  dear  little  dove,  since  then,  does  your 
heart  threb  ? 

Yes,  Sire,  it  throbs,  oh,  it  often  throbs  to  bursting!  When  I  hear 
your  voice,  when  I  behold  your  countenance,  it  is  as  if  a  cold  tremor 
rilled  through  my  whole  being,  and  drove  all  my  blood  to  the  heart. 
It  is  as  though  my  heart  anticipated  your  approach  before  my  eyes  dis- 
cern you.  For  even  before  you  draw  near  me,  I  feel  a  peculiar  tremb- 
ling of  the  heart,  and  the  breath  is  stifled  in  my  bosom;  then  I  always 
know  that  you  are  coming,  and  that  your  presence  will  relieve  this  pe- 


19 

culiar  tension  of  my  being.  When  you  are  not  by  me,  I  think  of  you, 
and  when  I  sleep,  I  dream  of  you.  Tell  me,  Sire,  you  who  know  every- 
thing, tell  me,  know  you  now  whether  I  love  you? 

Yes,  yes;  you  live  me  ;   cried  Henry,  to  whom  this  strange  and  joy- 
ous surprise  had   imparted   youthful  vivacity  and  warmth.     Yes,  Kate 
you  love  me;  and  if  I  may  trust  your  dear  confession,  I  am  your  first 
love.     Repeat  it  yet  again  ;  you  were  nothing  but  a  daughter  to  Lord 
Neville? 

Nothing  more,  Sire  ! 

And  after  him  have  you  had  no  lover? 

None,  Sire  ! 

And  can  it  be  that  so  happy  a  marvel  has  come  to  pass?  and  that  I 
have  made,  not  a  widow,  but  a  young  maiden,  my  Queen  ? 

As  he  now  gazed  at  her  with  warm,  passionate,  tender  looks,  Catharine 
cast  down  her  eyes,  and  a  deep  blush  covered  her  sweet  face. 

Ah,  a  woman's  bashful  blushes,  what  an-  exquisite  sight"!  cried  the 
King,  and  while  he  wildly  pressed  Catharine  to  his  bosom,  he  continued  : 
Oh,  are  we  not  all  foolish  and  short  sighted  men,  all  of  us,  yes  even  we 
kings  ?  In  order  that  I  might  not  be,  perhaps,  forced  to  send  my  sixth 
wife  also  to  the  scaffold,  I  chose;  in  trembling  dread  of  the  deceitYulness 
of  your  sex,  a  widow  for  my  queen,  and  this  widow  with  a  blessed  con- 
fession, mocks  at  the  new  law  of  the  wise*  Parliament,  and  makes  good 
to  me  what  she  never  promised.* 

Come,  Kate,  give  me  a  kiss.  You  have  opened  before  me  to-day  a 
happy,  blissful  future,  and  prepared  for  me  a  great  and  unexpected  plea- 
sure. I  thank  you  for  it,  Kate,  and  the  Mother  of  God  be  my  witness, 
]  will  never  forget  it. 

And  drawing  a  rich  diamond  ring  from  his  own  finger,  and,  putting  it 
upon  Catharine's,  he  continued  :  Be  this  ring  a  remembrancer  of  this  hour, 
and  when  you  hereafter  present  it  to  me,  with  a  request,  I  will  grant 
that  request,  Kate ! 

He  kissed  her  forehead,  and  was  about  to  press  her  more  closely  in 
his  arms,  when  suddenly  from  without  was  heard  the  dull  roll  of  drums, 
and  the  ringing  of  bells. 

The  King  started  a  moment  and  released  Catharine  from  his  arms. 
He  listened  ;  the  roll  of  drums  continued,  and  now  and  then  was  heard 
in  the  distance  that  peculiar  thundering  and  yet  sullen  roaring,  which  so 
much  resembles  the  roar  and  rush  of  the  sea,  and  which  can  be  produced 
only  by  a  large  and  excited  mob. 

The  King,  with  a  fierce  curse,  pushed  open  the  glass  door  leading  to 
the  balcony,  and  walked  out. 

Catharine  gazed  after  him  with  a  strange,  half  timid,  half  scornful 
look.     I  have  not  at  least  told  him  that  I  love  him.  muttered  she.     He 

•After  Catharine  Howard's  infidelity  anil  inrontinenov  had  bei  n  proved,  anil  she  had  atoned  for 
(hem  by  her  death,  1  "noted  a  law:  "  That  if  the  King or  hi*  i  .uld  Intend  to 

marry  any  woman  whom  they  took  to  be  a  clean  and  pure  maid— it  she,  not  being  so,  did  not  declare 
the  same  to  the  Kin?,  it  should  be  high  treason  ;  and  all  who  Lncw  it,  aud  J„l   not  rereal  it 
guilty  of  misprison  of  treason." 

Burnet's  History  of  the  liefonnation  of  the  Church  of  England  —  London,  1681.    Vol.  I,  page  818. 


20 

has  construed  my  words  as  it  suited  his  vanity.     No  matter.     1  will  not 
die  on  the  scaffold  ! 

With  resolute  step  and  firm,  energetic  air,  she  followed  the  Kipg  to 
the  balcony.  The  roll  of  drums  was  kept  up,  and  from  all  the  steeples 
the. bells  were  pealing.  The  night  was  dark  and  calm.  All  London 
seemed  to  slumber,  and  the  dark  houses  around  about  stood  up  out  of 
the  universal  darkness  like  huge  coffins. 

Suddenly  the  horizon  began  to  grow  bright,  and  on  the  sky  appeared 
a  streak  of  fiery  red,  which,  blazing  up  higher  and  higher,  soon  illumina- 
ted the  entire  horizon  with  a  crimson  glow,  and  even  shed  its  glaring 
fiery  beams  over  the  balcony,  on  which  stood  the  royal  pair. 

Still  the  bells  clanged  and  clamored  ;  and  blended  with  their  peals 
was  heard  now  and  then,  in  the  distance,  a  piercing  shriek  and  a  clamor. 
as  of  thousands  and  thousands  of  confusedly  mingled  voices. 

Suddenly  the  King  turned  to  Catharine,  and  his  countenance,  which 
was  just  then  overspread  by  the  fire-light  as  with  a  blood-red  veil,  had 
now  assumed  an  expression  of  savage  demoniacal  delight. 

Ah,  said  he,  I  know  what  it  is.  You  had  wholly  bewildered  me,  and 
stolen  ;»way  my  attention,  you  little  enchantress.  I  had  for  a  moment 
ceased  to  be  a  king,  because  I  wished  to  be  entirely  your  lover.  But 
now,  I  bethink  me  again  of  my  avenging  sovereignty  !  It  is  the  fagot 
piles  about  the  stake  which  flatfle  so  merrily  yonder.  And  that  yelling 
and  clamor  indicate  that  my  merry  people  are  enjoying  with  all  their 
soul,  the  comedy  which  I  have  had  played  before  them  to-day,  for  the 
honor  of  God,  an  my  unimpeachable  royal  dignity.  The  stake  !  cried 
Catharine  taembling.  Your  Majesty  does  not  mean  thereby  to  say  that 
right  yonder,  men  are  to  die  a  cruel  painful  death — that  the  same  hour 
in  which  their  King  pronounces  himself  happy  and  content,  some  of  his 
subject  are  to  be  condemned  to  dreadful  torture,  to  a  horrible  destruc- 
tion. Oh,  no!  my  King  will  not  overcloud  his  Queen's  wedding-day 
with  so  dark  a  veil  of  death.  He  will  not  wish  to  dim  my  happiness  so 
cruelly. 

The  King  laughed.  No,  I  will  not  darken  it,  but  light  it  up  with 
bright  flames,  said  he ;  and  as,  with  outstretched  arm,  he  pointed  over 
to  the  glaring  heavens,  he  continued  :  There  are  our  wedding  torches, 
my  Kate,  and  the  most  sacred  and  beautiful  which  I  could  find,  for  they 
burn  to  the  honor  of  God  and  of  the  King.*  And  the  heavenward  flar 
ing  flame  which  carries  up  the  souls  of  the  heretics  will  give  to  my  God 
joyous  intelligence  of  his  most  faithful  and  obedient  son,  who,  even  on 
the  day  of  his  happiness,  forgets  not  his  kingly  duty,  but  ever  remain's 
the  avenging  and  destroying  minister  of  his  God. 

He  looked  frightful  as  he  thus  spoke.  His  countenance,  lit  up  by  the 
fire,  had  a  fierce,  threatening  expression;  his  eyes  blazed;  and  a  cold, 
cruel  smile  played  about  his  thin,  firmly  pressed  lips. 

Oh,  he  knows  no  pity  !  murmured  Catharine  to  herself,  as  in  a  parox- 

*  Life  of  King  Henry  the  Eighth,  founded  on  authentic  and  original  documents.  By  Patrick 
Fraser  Tytler,  Kdinburg.  188T,  page  140. 


Z] 

ysm  of  anguish,  she  stared  at  the  King,  who,  in  fanatical  enthusiasm, 
was  looking  over  towards  the  fire,  into  which,  at  his  command,  they  were 
perhaps  hurling  to  a  cruel,  torturing  death,  some  poor  wretch,  to  the  ho- 
nor of  God  and  the  King.     No,  he  knows  no  pity  and  no  mercy. 

Now  Henry  turned  to  her,  and  laving  his  extended  hand  softly  on 
the  back  of.  her  slender  neck,  he  spanned  it  with  his  fingers,  and  whis- 
pered in  her  ear  tender  words  and  vows  of  love. 

Catharine  trembled.  This  caress  of  the  King,  however  harmless  in 
itself,  had  in  it  for  her  something  dismal  and  dreadful.  It  was  the  in- 
voluntary, instinctive  touch  of  the  headsman,  who  examines  the  neck  of 
his  victim,  and  searches  on  it  for  the  place  where  he  will  make  the 
stroke.  Thus  had  Anne  Boleyn  once  put  her  tender  white  hands  about 
her  slender  neck,  and  said  to  the  headsman,  brought  over  from  Calais 
specially  for  her  execution  :  I  pray  you  strike  me  well  and  surely  !  I 
have  indeed  but  a  slim  little  neck.*  Thus  had  the  King  clutched  his 
hand  about  the  neck  of  Catharine  Howard,  his  fifth  wife,  when,  certain 
of  her  infidelity,  he  had  thrust  her  from  himself  with  fierce  execration*, 
when  she  would  have  clung  to  him.  The  dark  marks  of  that  grip  were 
still  visible  upon  her  neck  when  she  laid  it  on  the  block. f 

And  this  dreadful  twining  of  his  fingers,  Catharine  must  now  endure 
as  a  caress ;  at  which  she  must  smile,  which  she  must  receive  with  all 
the  appearance  of  delight.  ( 

While  Im>  spanued  her  neck,  he  whispered  in  her  ear  words  o(  tender- 
ness, and  beat  his  face  close  to  her  cheeks. 

But  Catharine  heeded  not  his  passionate  whispers.  She  saw  nothing 
save  the  blood-red  hand-writing  of  fire  upon  the  sky.  She  heard  noth- 
ing save  the  shrieks  of  the  wretched  victims. 

Mercy,  mercy!  faltered  she.  Oh,  let  this  day  be  a  dayt>f  festivity 
for  all  your  subjects  !  Be  merciful,  and  if  you  would  have  me  really 
believe  that  you  love  me,  grant  this  first  request  which  I  make  of  you. 
Grant  me  the  lives  of  these  wretched  ones.     Mercy,  Sire,  mercy. 

And  as  if  the  Queen's  supplication  had  found  an  echo,  suddenly  was 
heard  from  the  chamber  a  wailing,  despairing  voice,  repeating  loudly  and 
in  tones  of  anguish :  Mercy,  your  Majesty,  mercy  !  The  King  turned 
round  impetuously,  and  his  face  assumed  a  dark,  wrathful  expression. 
He  fastened  his  searching  eyes  on  Catharine,  as  though  he  would  read 
in  her  looks,  whether  she  knew  who  had  dared  to  interrupt  their  con- 
versation. 

But  Catharine's  countenance  expressed  unconcealed  astonishment. 
Mercy,  mercy  !  repeated  the  voice  from  ihe  interior  of  the  chamber. 

The  King  uttered  an  angry  exclamation,  and  hastily  withdrew  from 
the  balcony. 

•  Tytlor,  892.       t  Leti,  vol.  1,  pa*©  103. 


99 


4  CHAPTER  IV. 

KING  BY  THE  WRATH  OF  GOD. 

Who  dares  interrupt  us  1  cried  the  King,  as  with  headlong  step  he 
returned  to  the  chamber — Who  dares  speak  of  mercy  1 

I  dare !  said  a  young  lady,  who,  pale,  with  distorted  features,  in 
frightful  agitation,  now  hastened  to  the  King  and  prostrated  herself  be- 
fore him. 

Anne  Askew  !  cried  Catharine  amazed.     Anne,  what  want  you  here  1 

1  want  mercy,  mercy  for  those  wretched  ones,  who  are  suffering  yon- 
der, cried  the  young  maiden,  pointing  with  an  expression  of  horror  to 
the  reddened  sky.  I  want  mercy  for  the  King  himself,  who  is  so  cruel 
as  to  send  the  noblest  and  best  of  his  subjects  to  the  slaughter  like  mis 
erable  brutes !  .  . 

Oh,  Sire,  have  compassion  on  this  poor  child  !  besought  Catharine*, 
turning  to  Henry,  compassion  on  her  impassioned  excitement  and  her 
youthful  ardor!  She  is  as  yet  unaccustomed  to  these  frightful  scenes  : 
she  knows  not  yet  that  it  is  the  sad  duty  of  kings  to  be  constrained  to 
punish,  where  they  might  prefer  to  pardon  ! 

Henry  smiled ;  but  the  look  which  he  cast  on  the  kneeling  girl  made 
Catharine  tremble.     There  was  a  death  warrant  in  that  look  ! 

Anne  Askew,  if  I  mistake  not,  is  your  second  maid  of  honor?  asked 
the  King,  and  it  was  at  your  express  wish  that  she  received  that  place  ? 

Yes,  Sire! 

You  knew  her  then  1 

No,  Sire !  I  saw  her  a  few  days  ago  for  the  first  time.  But  she  had 
already  won  my  heart  at  our  first  meeting,  and  I  feel  that  I  shall  love 
her.     Exercise  forbearance,  then,  your  Majesty  ! 

But  the  King  was  still  thoughtful,  and  Catharine's  answers  did  not  yet 
satisfy  him. 

Why  then  do  you  interest  yourself  for  this  young  lady,  if  you  did 
not  know  her1? 

She  has  been  so  warmly  recommended  to  me  ! 

By  whom  ? 

Catharine  hesitated  a  moment ;  she  felt  that  she  had  perhaps,  in  her 
zeal,  gone  too  far,  and  that  it  was  imprudent  to  tell  the  King  the  truth. 
But  the  King's  keen,  penetrating  look  was  resting  on  her,  and  she  recol- 
lected that  he  had,  the  first  thing  that  evening,  so  urgently  and  solemnly 
conjured  her  to  always  tell  him  the  truth.  Besides  it  was  no  secret  at 
Court,  who  the  protector  of  this  young  maiden  was,  and  who  had  been 
the  mean?  of  her  obtaining  the  place  of  maid  of  honor  to  the  Queen,  a 


23 

place  which  so  many  wealthy  and  distinguished  families  had  solicited 
for  their  daughters. 

Who  recommended  this  lady  to  you]  repeated  the  King,  and  already 
his  ill-humor  begun  to  redden  his  face  and  make  lris'\  Me. 

Archbishop  Cr'anmer  did  so,  Sire,  said  Catharine  as  she  raised  her  eyes 
to  the  King  and  looked  at  him  with  a  smile  surpassiugly  charming. 

At  that  moment  was  heard  without,  more  loudly,  the  roll  of  drums, 
which  nevertheless  was  partially  drowned  by  piercing  shrieks  and  horri- 
ble cries  of  distress.  The  blaze  of  the  fire  shot  up  higher,  and  now  was 
seen  the  bright  flame,  which  with  murderous  rajje  licked  the  sky  above. 

Anne  Askew,  who  had  kept  respectful  silence  during  the  conversation 
of  the  royal  pair,  now  felt  herself  completely  overcome  by  this  horrible 
sight,  and  bereft  of  the  last  remnant  of  self-possession. 

My  God,  my  God  !  said  she,  quivering  from  the  internal  tremor,  and 
stretching  her  hands  beseechingly  towards  the  King.  Do  you  not  hear 
that  frightful  wail  of  the  wretched  ?  Sire,  by  the  thought  of  your  own 
dying  hour,  1  conjure  you  have  compassion  on  ihese  miserable  beings. 
Let  them  not,  at  least,  be  thrown  alive  into  the  flames.  Spare  them 
this  last  fiightful  torture  ! 

King  Henry  cast  a  wrathful  look  on  the  kneeling  girl  ;  then  strode 
past  her  to  the  door,  which  led  into  the  adjoining  hall,  in  which  the  cour- 
tiers were  waiting  for  their  King. 

lie  beckoned  to  the  two  Bishops,  Cranmer  and  Gardiner,  to  come 
nearer,  and  ordered  the  servants  to  throw  the  hall  doors  wide  open. 

The  scene  now  afforded  an  animated  and  singular  spectacle,  and  this 
chamber,  just  before  so  quiet,  was  suddenly  changed  to  the  theatre  of  a 
great  drama,  which  was-  perhaps  to  end  tragically.  In  the  Queen's  bed- 
chamber, a  small  room,  but  furnished  with  the  utmost  luxury  and  splen-r 
dor,  the  principal  characters  of  this  scene  were  congregated.  In  the 
middle  of  the  space  stood  the  King  in  his  robes,  embroidered  with  gold 
and  sparkling  with  jewels,  which  were  irradiated  by  the  bright  light  of 
the  chandelier.  Near  him  was  seen  the  young  Queen,  whose  beautiful 
and  lovely  f&oe  was  turned  in  anxious  expectation  towards  the  King,  in 
wrhose  stern  and  rigid  features  she  sought  to  read  the"  development  of 
this  ^cene. 

Not  far  from  her,  still  knelt  the  young  maiden,  hiding  in  her  hands 
her  face  drenched  in  tears;  while  farther  away,  in  the  background,  were 
the  two  Bishops  observing  with  grave,  cool  tranquility,  the  group  before 
them.  Through  the  open  hall-doors  were  descried  the  expectant  and 
curious  countenances  of  the  courtiers,  standing  with  their  heads  crowded 
close  together  in   the  space  beforo  the  doors;  and,  op|>  <hem, 

through  the  open  door  leading  to  the  balcony,  was  seen  the  fiery,  blazing 
sky,  and  heard  the  clanging  of  the  bells,  and  the  rolling  of  the  drums, 
the  piercing  shrieks  and  the  yells  of  the  people. 

A  deep  silence  ensued,  and  when  the  King  spoke,  the  tone  of  his 
voice  was  so  hard  and  cold,  that  an  involuntary  shudder  ran  through  all 
present. 


24 

My  Lord  Bishop3  of  Winchester  and  Canterbury,  said  the  King,  we 
have  called  you  that  you  may,  by  the  might  of  you  prayers,  and  the 
wisdom  of  your  words,  rid  this  young  girl  here  from  the  devil,  who, 
without  doubt,  has  the  mastery  over  her,  since  she  dares  charge  her 
King  and  Master  with  cruelty  and  injustice.  * 

The  two  Bishops  drew  nearer  to  the  kneeling  girl ;  each  laid  a  hand 
upon  her  shoulder,  and  bent  over  her,  but  the  one  with  an  expression  of 
countenance  wholly  different  from  that  of  the  other. 

Cranmer's  look  was  gentle  and  serious,  and  at  the  same  time,  a  com- 
passionate and  encouraging  smile  played  about  his  thin  lips. 

Gardiner's  features  on  the  contrary  bore  the  expression  of  cruel,  cold- 
hearted  irony ;  and  the  smile  which  rested  on  his  thick  protruding  lips7 
•was  the  joyful  and  merciless  smile  of  a  priest  ready  to  sacrifice  a  victim 
to  his  idol. 

Courage,  my  daughter,  courage  and  prudence,  whispered  Cranmer. 

God,  who  blesses  the  righteous  and  punishes  and  destroys  sinners,  be 
with  thee  and  with  us  all,  said  Gardiner. 

But  Anne  Askew  recoiled  with  a  shudder  from  the  touch  of  his  hand, 
and  with  an  impetuous  movement,  pushed  it  away  from  her  shoulder. 

Touch  me  not ;  you  are  the  hangman  of  those  poor  people  whom  they 
are  putting  to  death  down  yonder,  said  she  impetuously  ;  and  as  she 
turned  to  the  King  and  extended  her  hands  imploringly  towards  him, 
she  cried  :  Mercy,  King  Henry,  mercy ! 

Mercy  1  repeated  the  King,  Mercy  ?  and  for  whom  ?  Who  are  ,they 
that  they  are  putting  to  death  down  there  %  Tell  me  forsooth,  my  Lord 
Bishops,  who  are  they  that  are  led  to  the  stake  to  day  1  Who  are  the 
condemned  1 

They  are  heretics,  who  devote  themselves  to  this  new  false  doctrine 
which  has  come  over  to  us  from  Germany,  and  who  dare  refuse  to  recog- 
nize the  spiritual  supremacy  of  our  Lord  and  King,  said  Bishop  Gardiner. 

They  are  Roman  Catholics  who  regard  the  Pope  of  Rome  as  the  chief 
shepherd  of  the  Church  of  Christ,  and  will  regard  nobody  but  him  as 
their  Lord,  said  Bishop  Cranmer. 

Ah,  behold  this  young  maiden  accuses  us  of  injustice,  cried  the  King; 
and  yet  you  say,  that  not  heretics  alone  are  executed  down  there,  but 
also  Romanists.  It  appears  to  me  then  that  we  have  justly  and  impar- 
tially, as  always,  punished  only  criminals  and  given  over  the  guilty  to 
justice.  ,  . 

Oh,  had  you  seen  what  I  have  seen,  said  Anne  Askew  shuddering,  then 
would  you  collect  all  your  vital  energies  for  a  single  cry,  for  a  single 
word — Mercy  !  and  that  word  would  you  shout  out  loud  enough  to  reach 
yon  frightful  place  of  torture  and  horror. 

What  saw  you  then?  asked  the  King,  smiling. 

Anne  Askew  had  stood  up,  and  her  tall  slender  form  now  lifted  itself, 
like  a  lily,  between  the  sombre  forms  of  the  Bishops.  Her  eye  was  fixed 
and  glaring;  her  noble  and  delicate  features  bore  the  expression  of  hor- 
ror and  dread. 


I  saw,  said  9he,  a  woman  whom  they  were  leading  to  execution.  Not 
a  criminal,  but  a  noble  lady,  whose  proud  and  loft\  heart  never  harbor- 
ed a  thought  of  treason  or  disloyalty  ;  but  who,*  true  to  her  faith  and  her 
convictions,  would  not  forswear  the  God  whom  she  served.  As  she 
passed  through  the  crowd,  it  seemed  as  if  a  halo  encompassed  her  head, 
:tnd  covered  her  white  hair  with  silvery  lays  ;  all  bowed  before  her,  and 
the  hardest  natures  wept  over  the  unfortunate  woman  who  had  lived 
more  than  seventy  years  and  yet  was  not  allowed  to  die  in  her  bed,  but 
was  to  be  slaughtered  to  the  glory  of  God  and  of  the  King.  But  she 
smiled  ;  and  graciously  saluting  the  weeping  and  sobbing  multitude,  she 
advanced  to  the  scaffold  as  if  she  were  ascending  a  throne  to  receive 
the  homage  of  her  people.  Two  years  of  imprisonment  had  blanched 
her  cheek,  but  had  not  been  able  to  destroy  the  fire  of  her  eye,  or  the 
strength  of  her  mind,  and  seventy  years  had  not  bowed  her  neck  or  bro- 
ken her  spirit.  Proud  and  firm,  she  mounted  the  steps  of  the  scaffold, 
and  once  more  saluted  the  people  and  cried  aloud  :  "  I  will  pray  to  God 
for  you."  But  as  the  headsman  approached  and  demanded  that  she 
should  allow  her  hands  to  be  bound,  and  that  she  should  kneel  in  order 
to  lay  her  head  upon  the  block,  she  refused,  and  angrily  pushed  him 
away.  "  Only  traitors  and  criminals  lay  their  head  on  the  block,"  ex 
claimed  she,  with  a  loud  thundering  voice.  "There  is  no  occasion  for 
me  to  do  so,  and  1  will  not  submit  to  your  bloody  laws  as  long  as  there 
is  a  breath  in  me.     Take  thei  my  life  if  you  can." 

And  now  began  a  scene  which  filled  the  hearts  of  the  lookers-on  with 
fear  and  horror.  The  Countess  flew  like  a  hunted  beast  round  and  round 
the  scaffold.  Her  white  hair  streamed  in  the  wind  ;  her  black  grave 
clothes  rustled  around  her  like  a  dark  cloud,  and  behind  her,  with  up- 
lifted axe,  came  the  headsman,  in  his  fiery  red  dress  ;  he,  ever  endeavor- 
ing to  strike  her  with  the  falling  axe — but  she,  ever  trying  by  moving 
her  head  to  and  fro  to  evade  the  descending  stroke.  But  at  length  her 
resistance  became  weaker  ;  the  blows  of  the  axe  reached  her,  and  stained 
her  white  hair,  hanging  loose  about  her  shoulders,  with  crimson  streaks. 
With  a  heart-rending  cry  she  fell  fainting.  Near  her,  exhausted  also, 
sank  down  the  headsman,  bathed  in  sweat.  This  horrible  wild  chase  had 
lamed  his  arm  and  broken  his  strength.  Panting  and  breathless  he  was 
not  able  to  drag  this  fainting,  bleeding  woman  to  the  block,  or  to  lift  up 
the  axe  to  separate  her  noble  head  from  the  body.*  The  crowd  shrieked 
with  distress  and  horror,  imploring  and  begging  for  mercy,  and  even  the 
Lord  Chief  Justice  could  not  refrain  from  tears,  and  he  ordered  the  cruel 
work  to  be  suspended  until  the  Countess  and  the  headsman  should  have 
retrained  strength  ;  for  a  living,  not  a  dying  person  was  to  be  executed  : 
thus  said  the  law.  They  made  a  pallet  for  the  Countess  on  the  scaffold 
and  endeavored  to  restore  her;  invigorating  wine  was  supplied  to  the 
headsman 'to  renew  his  strength  for  the  work  of  death,  and  the  crowd 
turned  to  the  stakes  which  were  prepared  on  both  sides  of  the  scaffold, 
and  at  which  four  other  martyrs  were  to  be  burnt.     But  I  flew  here  like 

•  TytUr,  piije  430. 


20 

a  hunted  doe,  and  now,  King,  I  lie  at  your  feet.  There  is  still  time. 
Pardon,  King,  pardon  for  the  Countess  of  Somnierset,  the  last  of  the 
Plantagenets. 

Pardon,  Sire,  pardon  !  repeated  Catharine  Parr,  weeping  and  tremb- 
ling as  she  clung  to  her  husband's  si<ie. 

Pardon  !  repeated  Archbishop  Cranmer,  and  a  few  of  the  courtiers  re- 
echoed it  in  a  timid  and  anxious  whisper. 

The  King's  large  brilliant  eyes  glanced  around  the  whole  assembly, 
with  a  quick  penetrating  look. 

And  you,  my  Lord  Bishop  Gardiner,  asked  he,  in  a  cold  sarcastic  tone  ; 
will  you  also  ask  for  mercy,  like  all  these  weak-hearted  souls  here1? 

The  Lord  our  God  is  a  jealous  God,  s-aid  Gardiner,  solemnly,  and  it  is 
written  that  God  will  punish  the  sinner  unto  the  third  and  fourth  gene- 
ration. 

And  what  .is  written  shall  stand  true,  exclaimed  the  King,  in  a  voice 
of  thunder.  No  mercy  for  evil-doers,  no  pity  for  criminals.  The  axe 
must  fall  upon  the  head  of  the  guilty,  the  flames  shall  consume  the  bodies 
of  criminals. 

Sire,  think  of  your  high  vocation  !  exclaimed  Anne  Askew,  in  a  tone 
of  enthusiasm.  Reflect  what  a  glorious  name  you  have  assumed  to 
yourself  in  this  land.  You  call  yourself  the  head  of  the  Church,  and  you 
want  to  rule  and  govern  upon  earth  in  God's  stead  !  Exercise  mercy, 
then,  for  you  entitle  yourself  King»by  the  grace  of  God. 

No,  I  do  not  call  myself  King  by  GocPs  grace.  1  call  myself  King  by 
God's  wrath  !  exclaimed  Henry,  as  he  raised  his  arm  menacingly.  It 
is  my  duty  to  send  sinners  to  God  ;  may  He  have  mercy  on  them  there 
above,  if  He  will  !•  I  am  the  punishing  judge,  and  I  judge  mercilessly 
according  to  the  law,  without  compassion  !  Let  those  whom  I  have  con- 
demned appeal  to  God,  and  may  He  have  mercy  upon  them.  I  cannot 
do  it,  nor  will  I.  Kings  are  here  to  punish,  and  they  are  like  to  God, 
not  in  his  love,  but  in  his  avenging  wrath. 

Woe,  then,  woe  to  you  and  to  all  of  us  !  exclaimed  Anne  Askew, 
woe  to  you,  King  Henry,  if  what  you  now  say  is  the  truth.  Then  are 
they  right,  those  men  who  are  bound  to  yonder  stakes,  when  they'brand 
you  with  the  name  of  tyrant — then  is  the  Bishop  of  Rome  right  when  he 
upbraids  you  as  an  apostate  and  degenerate  son,  and  hurls  his  anathe- 
mas against  you  !  Then  you  know  not  God  who  is  love  and  mercy — 
then  you  are  no  disciple  of  the  Saviour  who  has  said,  "  Love  your  ene- 
mies, bless  them  that  curse  you."  Woe  to  you,  King  Henry,  if  matters 
are  really  so  bad  with  you;  if 

Silence,  unhappy  woman,  silence !  exclaimed  Catharine,  and  as  she 
vehemently  pushed  away  the  furious  girl,  she  grasped  the  King's  hand 
and  pressed  it  to  her  lips. 

Sice,  whispered  she  with  intense  earnestness;  Sire,  you  told  me  just 
now,  that  you  loved  me.  Prove  it  by  pardoning  this  maiden  and  having 
consideration  for  her  impassioned  excitement.  Prove  it  by  allowing  me 
to  lead  Anne  Askew  to  her  room  and  enjoin  silence  upon  her ! 


But  at  this  moment  the  King  was  wholly  inaccessiblo  to  any  other 
feelings  than  those  of  anger  and  delight  in  blood. 

He  indignantly  repelled  Catharine,  and  without  moving  his  sharp, 
penetrating  look  from  the  young  maiden,  he  said  in  a  quick,  hollow  tone  : 
let  her  alone  !  let  her  speak  !  let  no  one  dare  to  interrupt  her ! 

Catharine,  trembling  with  anxiety  and  inwardly  hurt  at  the  harsh 
manner  of  the  King,  letired  with  a  sigh  to  the  embrasure  of  one  of  the 
windows. 

Anne  Askew  had  not  noticed  what  was  going  on  about  her.  She  re- 
mained in  that  state  of  exaltation  which  cares  for  no  consequences  and 
which  trembles  before  no  danger-.  She  would  at  thjs  moment  have  gone 
to  the  stake  with  cheerful  alacrity,  and  she  almost  longed  for  this  blessed 
martrydom. 

Speak,  Anne  Askew,  speak  !  commanded  the  King.  'Tell  me,  do 
you  know  what  the  Countess,  for  whose  pardon  you  are  beseeching  me, 
has  done  ?     Know  you  why  those  four  men  were  sent  to  the  stake  ? 

I  do  know,  King  Heury  by  the  wrath  of  God,  said  the  maiden,  with 
burning  passionateness.  1  know  why  you  have  sent  the  noble  Countess 
to  the  slaughter  house,  and  why  you  will  exercise  no  mercy  towards 
her.  She  is  of  noble,  of  royal  blood,  and  Cardinal  Pole  is  her  son.  You 
would  punish  the  son  through  the  mother,  and  because  you  cannot 
throttle  the  Cardinal,  you  murder  his  mother. 

Oh,  you  are  a  very  knowing  child  !  cried  the  King,  with  an  inhuman, 
ironical  laugh.  You  know  my  most  secret  thoughts  and  my  most  hidden 
feelings.  Without  doubt;  you  are  a  good  papist,  since  the  death  of  the 
popish  Countess  fills  you  with  such  heartrending  grief.  Then  )<ou 
must  confess,  at  the  least,  that  it  is  right  to  burn  the  lour  heretics  ! 

Heretics  !  exclaimed  Anne,  enthusiastically,  call  you  heretics  those 
noble  men,  who  go  gladly  and  boldly  to  death  for  their  convictions  and 
their  faith?  King  Henry  !  .King  Henry  !  Woe  to  you,  if  these  men 
are  condemned  as  heretics.  They  alone  are  the  faithful,  they  are  the 
true,  servants  of  God.  They  have  freed  themselves  from  human  supre- 
macy, and  as  you  would  not  recognize  the  Pope,  so  they  will  not  re- 
cognize you,  as  head  of  the  Church!  God  alone,  they  say,  is  Lord  of 
the  Church  and  Master  of  their  consciences,  and  who  can  be  presumptuous 
enough  to  call  them  criminals?  * 

I !  exclaimed  Henry  the  Eighth  in  a  powerful  tone.  I  dare  do  it.  I 
say  that  they  are  heretics  and  that  I  will  destroy  them,  will' tread  them 
all  beneath  my  feet,  all  of  them,  all  who  think  as  they  do  !  I  say  that 
I  will  shed  the  blood  of  these  criminals,  and  prepare  for  them  torments 
at  which  human  nature  will  shudder  and  quake.  God  will  manifest 
himself  by  me  in  fire  and  blood  !  He  has  put  the  eword  into  my  hand 
and  I  will  wield  it  for  his  glory.  Like  St.  George,  I  will  tread  the  dra 
gon  of  heresy  beneath  my  feet! 

And  haughtily  raising  his  crimsoned  face  and  rolling  his  great  blood- 
shot eyes  wildly  around  the  circle,  he  continued  :  Hear  this,  ;ill  of  you 
who  are  here  assembled  ;  no  mercy  for  heretics,  no  pardon  for  papists, 


23 

It  is  1, 1  alone,  whom  the  Lord  our  God  has  chosen  and  blessed  as  his 
hangman  and  executioner !  I  am  the  high-priest  of  his  Church,  and  he 
who  dares  deny  me,  denies  God  ;  and  he,  who  is  so  presumptuous  as  to 
do  reverence  to  any  other  head  of  the  Church,  is  a)  priest  of  Baal  and 
kneels  to  an  idolatrous  image.  Kneel  down  all  of  you  before  me  and 
reverence  in  me  God,  whose  earthly  representative  I  am,  and  who  re- 
veals himself- through  me  in  his  fearful  and  exalted  majesty.  Kneel 
down,  for  I  am  sole  head  of  the  Church  and  high  priest  of  our  God  ! 

And  as  if  at  one  blow  all  knees  bent,  all  those  haughty  cavaliers, 
those  ladies  sparkling  with  jewels  and  gold,  even  the  two  Bishops  and 
the  Queen  fell  upon  the  ground. 

The  King  gazed  for  a  moment  on  this  sight,  and  with  radiant  looks 
and  a  smile  of  triumph,  his  eyes  ran  over  this  assembly,  consisting  of 
the  noblest  "of  his  kingdom,  humbled  before  him. 

Suddenly  they  were  fastened  on  Anne  Askew.  , 

She  alone  had  not  bent  her  knee,  but  stood  in  the  midst  of  the  kneel- 
ers,  proud  and  upright  as  the  King  himself. 

A  dark  cloud  passed  over  the  King's  countenance. 

You  obey  not  my  command  ?  asked  he. 

She  shook  her  curly  head  and  fixed  on  him  a  steady  piercing  look. 
No,  said  she,  like  those  over  yonder,  whose  last  death-groan  we  even 
now  hear,  like  them,  I  say  :  To  God  alone  is  honor  due,  and  He  alone  is 
Lord  of  his  Church  !  If  you  wish  me.  to  bend  my  knee  before  you,  as 
my  King,  I  will-do  it,  but  I  bow  not  to  you  as  the  head  of  Holy  Church! 

A  murmur  of  surprise  flew  through  the  assembly,  and  every  eye  was 
turned  with  fear  and  amazement  on  this  bold  young  girl,  who  confronted 
the  King  with  a  countenance  smiling  and  glowing  with  enthusiasm. 

At  a  sign  from  Henry,  the  kneelers  arose  and  awaited  in  breathless 
silence  the  terrible  scene  that  was  coming. 

A  pause  ensued.  King  Henry  himself  was  struggling  for  breath  and 
needed  a  moment  to  collect  himseif. 

Not  as  though  wrath  and  passion  had  deprived'  him  of  speech.  He 
was  neither  wrathful,  nor  passionate,  and  it  was  only  joy  that  obstructed 
his  breathing — the  joy  of  having  again  found  a  victim  with  which  he 
might  satisfy  his  desire  for  blood,  on  whose  agony  he  might  feast  his 
eyes,  whose  dying  sigh  he  might  greedily  inhale. 

The  King  was  never  more  cheerful  than  when  he  had  signed  a  death- 
warrant.  For  then  he  was  in  full  enjoyment  of  his  greatness  as  lord 
over  the  lives  and  deaths  of  millions  of  other  men,  and  this  feeling  made 
him  proud  and  happy,  and  fully  conscious  of  his  exalted  position. 

Hence  as  he  now  turned  to  Anne  Askew,  his  countenance  was  calm 
and  serene,  and  his  voice  friendly,  almost  tender. 

Anne  Askew,  said  he,  do  you  know  that  the  words  you  have  now 
spoken  make  you  guilty  of  high  treason  1 

I  know  it,  Sire. 

And  you  know  what  punishment  awaits  traitors? 

Death,  I  know  it. 


29 

Death  by  fire!  said  the  King  with   perfect  calmness  and  composure. 

A  hollow  murmur  ran  through  the  assembly.     Only  one  voice  dared 

ve  utterance  to  the  word  Mercy. 

It  was  Catharine,  the  King's  consort  who  spoke  this  one  word.     She 

.pped  foiward,  and  was  about  to  rush  to  the  King  and  once  more  im- 
fjiore  his  mercy  and  pity.  But  she  felt  herself  gently  held  back.  Arch- 
bishop Cranmer  stood  near  her  regarding  her  with  a  serious  and  be- 
seeching look. 

Compose  yourself,  compose  yourself,  murmured  he.  You  cannot 
save  her;  she  is  lost.  Think  of  yourself,  and  of  the  pure  and  holy  re- 
ligion whose  protectress  you  are.  Preserve  yourself  for  your  Church 
and  your  companions  in  the  faith  ! 

And  must  she  die?  asked  Catharine,  whose  eyes  filled  with  tears  as 
she  looked  towards  that  poor  young  child,  who  was  confronting  the  King 
with  a  such  a  beautiful  and  innocent  smile. 

Perhaps  we  may  still  save  her,  but  this  is  not  the  moment  for  it. 
Any  opposition  now  would  only  irritate  the  King  the  more,  and  he 
might  cause  the  girl  to  be  instantly  thrown  into  the  flames  of  the  fires 
still  burning  yonder!     So  Jet  us  be  silent. 

Yes,  silence;  murmured  Catharine,  with  a  shudder,  as  she  withdrew 
again  to  the  embrasure  of  the  window. 

Death  by  fire  awaits  you,  Anne  Askew  !  repeated  the  King.  No 
mercy  for  the  traitoress  who  villifies  and  scoffs. at  her  King  ! 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  RIVALS. 

At  the  very  moment  when  the  King  was  pronouncing,  in  a  voice  al- 
most exultant,  Anne  Askew's  sentence  of  death,  one  of  the  King's  cav- 
aliers appeared  on  the  threshold  of  the  royal  chamber  and  advanced 
towards  the  King. 

He  was  a  young  man  of  noble  and  imposing  appearance,  whose  lofty 
bearing  contrasted  strangely  with  the  humble  and  submissive  attitude 
of  the  rest  of  the  courtiers.  His  tall,  slim  form«was  clad  in  a  coat  of 
mail  glittering  with  gold  ;  over  his  shoulders  hung  a  velvet  mantle  de- 
corated with  a  princely  crown,  and  his  head,  covered  with  dark  ringlets, 
was  adorned  with  a  cap  embroidered  with  gold,  from  which  along  white 
ostrich  feather  drooped  to  his  shoulder.  His  oval  face  presented  the 
full  type  of  aristocratic  beauty  ;  his  cheeks  were  of  a  clear,  transparent 
paleness;  about   his  slightly  pouting  mouth  played  a  smile,  half  con- 


30 

temptuous  and  half  languid ;  the  high  arched  brow  and  delicately  chis- 
eled acquiline  nose  gave  to  his  face  an  expression  at  once  bold  and 
thoughtful.  The  eyes  alone  were  not  in  harmony  with  his  face;  they 
were  neither  languid,  like  the  mouth,  nor  pensive,  like  the  brow.  All 
the  fire  and  all  the  bold  and  wanton  passion  of  youth  shot  from  those 
dark  flashing  eyes_  When  he  looked  down,  he  might  have  been  taken 
for  a  completely  worn  out,  misanthropic  aristocrat ;  but  when  he  raised 
those  ever  flashing  and  sparkling  eyes,  then-  was  seen  the  young  man 
full  of  dashing  courage  and  ambitious  desires,  of  passionate  warmth  and 
measureless  pride. 

He  approached  the  King,  as  already  stated,  and  as  .he  bent  his  knee 
before  him,  he  said,  in  a  full,  pleasant  voice:  Mercy,  Sire,  Mercy  ! 

The  King  stepped  back  in  astonishment,  and  turned  upon  the  bold 
speaker  a  look  almost  of  amazement. 

Thomas  Seymour !  said  he.  Thomas,  you  have  returned,  then,  and 
your  first  act  is  again  all  indiscretion  and  a  piece  of  foolhardy  rashness'? 

The  young  man  smiled.  I  have  returned,  said  he,  that  is  to  say,  T 
have  had  a  sea-fight  with  the  Scots  and  taken  from  them  four  men  of 
war.  With  these  1  hastened  hither  to  present  them  to  you,  my  King 
and  Lord,  as  a  wedding  gift,  and  just  as  I  entered  the  ante- room  I  heard 
your  voice  pronouncing  a  sentence  of  death.  Was  it  no^  natural,  then, 
that  I,  who  bring  you  tidings  of  a  victory,  should  have  the  heart  to  utter 
a  prayer  for  mercy,  for  which, -as  it  seems,  none  of  these  noble  and 
proud  cavaliers  could  summon  up  courage? 

Ah  !  said  the  King,  evidently  relieved  and  fetching  a  deep  breath, 
then  you  knew  not  at  all  for  whom  and  for  what  you  were  imploring 
pardon  1 

-  Yet !  said  the  young  man,  and  his  bold  glance  ran  with  an  expression 
of  contempt  over  the  whole  assembly.  Yet,  I  saw  at  once  who  the  con- 
demned must  be,  for  I  saw  this  young  maiden  forsaken  by  all  as  if 
stricken  by  the  plague,  standing  alone  in  the  midst  of  this  exalted  and 
brave  company.  And  you  well  know,  my  noble  King,  that  at  Court 
one  recognizes  the  condemned  and  those  fallen  into  disgrace  by  this, 
that  every  one  flies  from  them,  and  nobody  has  the  courage  to  touch 
such  a  leper  even  with  the  tip  of  his  finger. 

King  Henry  smiled.  Thomas  Seymour,  Earl  of  Sudley,  you  are 
now,  as  ever,  imprudent  and  hasty,  said  he.  You  beg  for  mercy  with- 
out once  knowing  whether  she,  for  whom  you  beg  it,  is  worthy  of 
mercy. 

But  I  see  that  she  is  a  woman,  said  the  intrepid  young  Earl.  And  a 
woman  is  always  wo,rthy  of  mercy,  and  it  becomes  every  knight  to 
come  forward  as  her  defender,  were  it  but  to  pay  homage  to  her  sex,  so 
fair  and  so  frail,  and  yet  so  noble  and  mighty.  Therefore  I  beg  mercy 
for  this  young  maiden  ! 

Catharine  had  listened  to  the  young  Earl  with  throbbing  heart  and 
flushed  cheeks.  It  was  the  first  time  that  she  had  seen  him,  and  yet 
she  felt  for  him  a  warm  sympathy,  an  almost  tender  anxiety. 


31 

He  will  plunge  himself  into  ruin  murmured  she  ;  he  will  not  save 
Anne,  but  make  himself  unhappy.  My  God,  my  God,  h;ive  a  little 
compassion  and  pity  on  my  anguish  ! 

She  now  fixed  her  anxious  gaze  on  the  King,  firmly  resolved  to  rush 
to  the  help  of  the  Ear),  who  had  so  nobly  and  mfignanimouslv  interested 
himself  in  an  innocent  woman,  should  the  wrath  of  her  husband  threat 
en  him  also.  But  to  her  surprise,  Henry's  face  was  perfectly  serene 
and  contented. 

Like  the  wild  beast,  that,  following  its  instinct,  seeks  its  bloody  prey 
only  so  long  as  it  is' hungry,  so  King  Henry  felt  satiated  for  the  day. 
Yonder  glared  the  fires  about  the  stake  at  which  four  heretics  were  burned; 
there  stood  the  scaffold  on  which  the  Countess  of  Sommerset  had  just 
been  executed,  and  now  within  this  hour  he  had  already  found  another 
new  victim  for  death. 

Moreover,  Thomas  Seymour  had  always  been  his  favorite.  His  au- 
dacity, his  liveliness)  his  energy,  had  always  inspired  the  King  with 
respect ;  and  then,  again,  he  so  much  resembled  his  sister,  the  beautiful 
Jane  Seymour,  Henry's  third  wife, 

J  cannot  grant  you  this  favor,  Thomas,  said  the  King.  Justice  must 
not  be  hindered  in  her  course,  and  where  she  has  passed  sentence,  mercy 
must  not  give  her  the  lift  ;  and  it  was  the  justice  of  your  King  which  pro 
nounced  sentence  at  that  moment.  You  were  -guilty,  therefore,  of  a 
double  wrong,  for  you  not  only  besought  mercy,  but  you  also  brought 
an  accusation  against  my  cavaliers.  Do  you  really  believe  that,  were 
this  maiden's  cause  a  just  one,  no  knight  would  have  been  found  for  her1? 

Yes,  1  really  believe  it,  cried  the  Earl,  with  a  laugh.  The  sun  of 
your  favor  had  turned  away  from  this  poor  girl,  and  in  such  a  case  your 
courtiers  no  longer  see  the  figure  wrapped  in  darkness. 

You  are  mistaken,  my  Lord,  I  have  seen  it,  suddenly  said  another 
voice,  and  a  second  cavalier  advanced  from  the  anteroom  into  the  cham- 
ber. He  approached  the  King,  and,  as  he  bent  his  knee  before  him.  he 
said  in  a  loud,  steady  voice:  Sire,  I  also  beg  mercy  for  Anne  Askew  ! 

At  this  moment  was  heard  from  that  side  of  the  room  where  the  la- 
dies stood  a  low  cry,  and  the  pale,  affrighted  face  of  Lady  Jane  Doug- 
las was  for  a  moment  raised  above  the  heads  of  the  other  ladies. 

No  one  noticed  it.  All  eyes  were  directed  towards  the  group  in  the 
middle  of  the  room  ;  all  looked  with  eager  attention  upon  the  King 
and  these  two  young  men,  who  dared  protect  one  whom  he  had  sen- 
tenced. 

Henry  Howard,  Earl  of* Surrey!  exclaimed  the  King;  and  now  an 
expression  of  wrath  passed  over  his  countenance.  How,  you  too,  dare 
intercede  for  this  girl  ?  You,  then,  grudge  Thomas  Seymour  the  pre- 
eminence of  being  the  most  indiscreet  man  at  my  Court? 

I  will  not  allow  him,  Sire,  to  think  that  he  is  the  bravest,  replied  the 
young  man,  as  he  fixed  on  Thomas  ^Seymour  a  look  of  haughty  defi- 
ance, which  the  other  answered  by  a  cold,  disdainful  -mile. 

Oh,  said  he,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  1  willingly  a'low  you,  my 


32 

• 
dear  Earl  of  Surrey,  to  tread  behind  me,  at  your  convenience,  the  path, 
the  safety  of  which  I  first  tested  at  the  peril  of  my  life.-  You  saw  that 
1  had  not  as  yet  lost  either  my  head  or  my  life  in  this  reckless  under 
taking,  and  that  has  given  you  courage  to  follow  my  example.  That  is 
a  new  proof  of  \y oar  prudent  valor,  my  Honorable  Earl  of  Surrey,  and 
I  must  praise  you  for  it ! 

A  hot  flush  suffused  the  noble  face  of  the  Earl,  his  eyes  shot  lighten- 
ing, and,  trembling  with  rage,  he  laid  his  hand  on  his  sword. 

Praise  from  Thomas  Seymour  is — 

Silence  !  interrupted  the  King  imperatively.  It  must  not  be  said  that 
two  of  the  noblest  cavaliers  of  my  Court  have  turned  the  day,  which 
should  be  one  of  festivity  to  all  of  you,  into  a  day  of  contention.  I 
command  you,  therefore,  to  be  reconciled.  Shake  hands,  my  Lords, 
and  let  your  reconciliation  be  sincere.     I,  the  King,  command  it! 

The  young  men  gazed  at  each  other  with  looks  of  hatred  and  smoth- 
ered rage,  and  their  eyes  spoke  the  insulting  and  defiant  words  which 
their  lips  durst  no  longer  utter. 

The  King  had  ordered,  and  however  great  and  powerful  they  might 
be,  the  King  was  to  be  obeyed. 

They,  therefore,  extended  their  hands  to  each  other  and  muttered  a 
few  low,  unintelligible  words,  which  might  be  perhaps  a  mutual  apology, 
but  which  neither  of  them  understood. 

And  now,  Sire,  said  the  Earl  of  Surrey,  now  I  venture  to  reiterate 
my  prayer.     Mercy,  your  Majesty,  mercy  for  Anne  Askew. 

And  you,  Thomas  Seymour,  do  you  also  renew  you  petition? 

No,  I  withdraw  it  Earl  Surrey  protects  her;  I,  therefore,  retire,  for 
without  doubt  she  is  a  criminal ;  your  Majesty  says  so,  and,  therefore, 
it  is  so  !  It  would  ill  become  a  Seymour  to  protect  a  person  who  has 
sinned  against  the  King. 

This  new  indirect  attack  on  Earl  Surrey  seemed  to  make  on  all  pres- 
ent a  deep  but  very  varied  impression.  Here,  faces  were  seen  to  turn 
pale,  and  there,  to  light  up  with  a  malicious  smile ;  here,  compressed  lips 
muttered  words  of  threatening,  there,  a  mouth  opened  to  express  appro- 
bation and  agreement. 

The  King's  brow  was  clouded  and  troubled  ;  the  arrow,  which  Earl 
Sudley  had  shot  with  so  skillful  a  hand,  had  hit.  The  King,  ever  suspi- 
cious and  distrustful,  felt  so  much  the  more  disquieted,  as  he  saw  that 
the  greater  part  of  his  cavaliers  evidently  reckoned  themselves  friends 
of  Henry  Howard,  and  that  the  number  of  Seymour's  adherents  was 
but  trifling. 

These  Howards  are  dangerous  and  I  will  watch  them  carefully,  said 
the  King  to  himself,  and  for  the  first  time  his  eye  rested  with  a  dark  and 
hostile  look  on  Henry  Howard's  noble  countenance. 

But  Thomas  Seymour,  who  wished  only  to  make  a  thrust  at  his  old 
enemy,  had  at  the  same  time  decided  the  fate  of  poor  Anne  Askew. 

It  was  now  almost  an  impossibility  to  speak  in  her  behalf;  and  to 
implore  pardon  for  her  was  to  become  a  partaker  of  her  crime. 


Thomas  Seymour  had  abandoned  her,  because,  as  Iraitoress  to  her  king, 
she  had  rendered  herself  unworthy  of  his  protection.  Who  now  would 
be  so  presumptuous  as  to  still  protect  the  traitoress? 

Henry  Howard  did  it.  He  reiterated  his  supplication  for  Anne  As- 
kew's  pardon.  But  the  KingSs  countenance  grew  darker  and  darker, 
and  the  courtiers  watched  with  dread  the  coming  of  the  moment  when 
his  wrath  would  dash  in  pieces  the  poor  Earl  of  Surrey. 

In  the  row  of  ladies  also,  here  and  there,  a  pale  face  was  visible,  and 
many  a  beautiful  and  beaming  eye  was  dimmed  with  tears,  at  the  sight 
of  this  gallant  and  handsome  cavalier,  who  was  hazarding  even  his  life 
for  a  woman. 

He  is  lost!  murmured  Lady  Jane  Douglas,  and  completely  crushed 
and  lifeless,  she  leant  for  a  moment  against  the  wall.  But  she  soon  re- 
covered herself  and  her  eye  beamed  with  bold  resolution. 

I  will  try  and  save  him  !  she  said  to  herself;  and,  with  firm  step, 
she  advanced  from  the  ladies'  ranks  and  approached  the  King. 

A  murmur  of  applause  ran  through  the  company,  and  all  faces  bright- 
ened and  all  eyes  were  bent  approvingly  on  Lady  Jane. 

They  knew  that  she  was  the  Queen's  friend  and  an  adherent  of  the 
new  doctrine,  it  was,  therefore,  very  marked  and  significant,  when  she 
supported  the  Earl  of  Surrey  in  his  magnanimous  effort. 

Lady  Jane  bowed  her  beautiful  and  haughty  head  before  the  King, 
and  said  in  her  clear,  silvery  voice  :  Sire  !  in  the  name  of  all  the  women, 
I  also  beseech  you  to  pardon  Anne  Askew,  because  she  is  a  woman. 
Lord  Surrey  has  done  so,  because  a  true  knight  can  never  be  false  to  him- 
self and  his  ever  high  and  sacred  obligation:  to  be  the  protector  of 
those  who  are  helpless  and  in  peril,  is  enough  for  him.  A  real  gentle- 
mau  asks  not  whether  a  woman  is  worthy  of  his  protection  ;  he  grants 
it  to  her,  simply  because  she  is  a  woman,  and  needs  his  help.  And 
while  J,  therefore,  in  the  name  of%\l  the  women,  thank  the  Earl  of 
Surrey  for  the  assistance  that  he  has  been  desirous  to  render  to  a  wo- 
man, I  unite  my  prayer  with  his,  because  it  shall  not  be  said  that  wc 
women  are  always  cowardly  and  timid,  and  never  venture  to  hasten  to 
the  help  of  the  distressed.  I,  therefore,  ask  mercy,  Sire,  mercy  for 
Anne  Askew ! 

And  I,  said  the  Queen,  as  she  again  approached  the  King ;  I  add  my 
prayers  to  hers,  Sire!  Today  is  the  feast  of  love,  my  festival,  Sire! 
To-day,  then,  let  love  and  mercy  prevail. 

She  looked  at  the  King  with  so  charming  a  smile,  her  eyes  had  an 
expression  so  radiant  and  happy,  that  the  King  could  not  withstand 
her. 

He  was,  therefore,  in  the  depths  of  his  heart,  ready  to  let  the  royal 
clemency  prevail  for  this  time;  but  he  wanted  a  pretext  for  this,  somo 
way  of  bringing  it  about.  He  had  solemnly  vowed  to  pardon  n©  here- 
tic, and  he  might  not  break  his  word  merely  because  the  Queen  prayed 
for  mercy. 

Well,  then,  said  he,  after  a  pause,  I  will  comply  with  your  request. 


34 

I  will  pardon  Anr.e  Askew,  provided  she  will  retract  and  solemnly  ab- 
jure all  that  she  has  said.     Are  you  satisfied  with  that,  Catharine? 

I  am  satisfied !  said  she  Badly. 

And  you,  Lady  Jane  Douglas  and   Henry  Howard,  Earl  of  Surrey  1 

We  are  satisfied ! 

All  eyes  were  now  turned  agaiu  upon  Anne  Askew,  who,  although 
every  one  was  occupied  by  her  concerns,  had  been  entirely  overlooked 
and  left  unnoticed. 

Nor  had  she  taken  any  more  notice  of  the  company  than  they  of  her. 
She  had  scarcely  observed  what  was  going  on  about  her. 

She  stood  leaning  against  the  open  door  leading  to  the  balcony,  and 
gazed  at  the  flaming  horizon.  Her  soul  was  with  those  pious  mattyrs, 
for  whom  she  was  sending  up  her  heartfelt  prayers  to  God,  and  whom 
she,  in  her  feverish  exaltation,  envied  their  death  of  torture. 

Entirely  borne  away  from  the  present,  she  had  heard  neither  the  pe- 
titions of  those  who  protected  her,  nor  the  King's  reply. 

A  hand  laid  upon  her  shoulder  roused  her  from  her  revery. 

It  was  Catharine,  the  young  Queen,  who  stood  near  her. 

Anne  Askew,  said  she  in  a  hurried  whisper,  if  your  life  is  dear  to  you, 
comply  with  the  King's  demand. 

She  seized  the  young  girl's  hand  and  led  her  to  the  King. 

Sire,  said  sjie,  in  a  full  voice,  forgive  the  exalted  and  impassioned 
agony  of  a  poor  girl,  who  has  now,  for  the  first  time,  been  wit- 
ness of  an  execution,  and  whose  mind  has  been  so  much  impressed  by 
it  that  she  is  scarcely  conscious  of  the  mad  and  criminal  words  that  she 
has  uttered  before  you !  Pardon  her,  then,  your  Majesty,  for  she  is 
prepared  cheerfully  to  retract. 

A  cry  of  amazement  burst  from  Anne's  lips,  and  her  eyes  flashed  with 
anger,  as  she  dashed  the  Queen's  hand  away  from  her. 

I  retract?  exclaimed  she,  with  £  contemptuous  smile.  Never!  my 
Lady,  never  !  No  !  As  sure  as  1  hope  for  God  to  be  gracious  to  me 
in  my  last  hour,  I  retract  not !  It  is  true,  it  was  agony  and  horror  that 
made  me  speak  ;  but  what  I  have  spoken,  is  yet,  nevertheless,  the  truth. 
Horror  caused  me  to  speak,  and  forced  me  to  show  my  soul  undisguised. 
No,  I  retract  not !  I  tell  you,  they  who  have  been  executed  over  you- 
der*  are  holy  martyrs,  who  have  ascended  to  God,  there  to  enter  an 
accusation  against  their  royal  hangman.  Aye,  they  are  holy,  for  eter- 
nal truth  had  illumined  their  souls,  and  it  beamed  about  their  /aces 
bright  as  the  flames  of  the  fagots  into  which  the  murderous  hand  of  an 
unrighteous  judge  had  cast  them.  Ah,  I  must  retract !  I,  forsooth,  am 
to  do  as  did  Shaxton,  the  miserable  and  unfaithful  servant  of  his  God, 
who,  from  fear  of  earthly  death,  denied  the  eternal  truth,  and  in  blas- 
pheming pusillanimity  perjured  himself  concerning  the  holy  doctrine.* 
King  Henry,  I  say  unto  you,  beware  of  dissemblers  and  perjurers;  be- 
ware of  your  own  haughty  and  arrogant  thoughts.  The  blood  of  mar- 
tyrs cries  to  Heaven  against  you,  and  the  time  will  come  when  God 

*Burnet,  vol.  1,  page  841. 


60 

will  bo  as  merciless  to  you  as  you  have  been  to  the  noblest  of  your 
subjects!  You  deliver  them  over  to  the  murderous  flames,  because 
they  will  not  believe  what  the  Priests  of  Baal  preach;  because  they 
will  not  believe  in  the  real  trausubstantiation  of  the  chalice;  because 
they  deny  that  the  natural  body  of  Christ  is,  .after  sacrament,  contained 
in  the  sacrament,  no  matter  whether  the,  priest  be  a  good  or  a  bad  man.* 
You  give  them  ov^r  to  the  executioner,  because  they  serve  the  truth, 
and  are  faithful  followers  of  the  Lord  their  God  ! 

And  you  share  the  views  of  these  people,  whom  you  call  martyrs? 
•    asked  tne  King,  as  Anne  Askew  now  paused   for  a  moment  and  strug- 
gled for  breath. 

Yes,  1  shaie  them  ! 

You  deny,  then,  the  truth  of  the  Six  Articles? 

I  deny  them  !         • 

You  do  not  see  in  me  the  head  of  the  Church  ? 

God  only  is  Head  and  Lord  of  the  Church  ! 

A  pause  followed,  a  fearful,  awful  pause. 

Every  one  felt  that  for  this  poor  young  girl  there  was  no  hope,  no 
possible  escape;    that  her  doom  was  irrevocably  sealed. 

There  was  a  smile  on  the  King's  countenance. 

The  courtiers  knew  that  smile,  and  feared  it  yet  more  than  the  King's 
raging  wrath. 

When  the  King  thus  smiled,  he  had  taken  his  resolve.  Then  there 
was  with  him  no  possible  vacillation  or  hesitation,  but  the  sentence  of 
death  was  resolved  on,  and  his  bloodthirsty  so i\  rejoiced  over  a  new 
victim. 

My  Lord  Bishop  of  Winchester,  said  the  King,  at  length,  come  hither. 

Gardiner  drew  near  and  placed  himself  by  Anne  Askew,  who  gazed  at 
him  with  angry,  contemptuous  looks. 

In  the  name  of  the  law,  I  command  you  to  arrest  this  heretic,  and 
hand  her  over  to  the  Spiritual  Court,  continued  the  King.  She  is 
damned  and  lost.     She  shall  be  punished  as  she  deserves! 

Gardiner  laid  his  hand  on  Anne  Askew's  shoulder.  In  the  name  of 
the  law  of  God,  I  arrest  you  !  said  he,  solemnly. 

Not  a  word  more  was  spoken.  The  Lord  Chief  Justice  had  silently 
followed  a  sign  from  Gardiner,  and  touching  Anne  Askew  with  his 
staff,  ordered  the  soldiers  to  conduct  her  thence. 

With  a  smile,  Anne  Askew  offered  them  her  hand,  and,  surrounded 
by  the  soldiers  and  followed  by  the  Bishop  of  Winchester  and  the  Lord 
Chief  Justice,  walked  erect  and  proudly  out  of  the  room. 

The  courtiers  had  divided  and  opened  a  passage  for  Anne  and  her 
attendants.  Now  their  ranks  closed  again,  as  the  sea  closes  and  flows 
calmly  on  when  it  has  just  received  a  corpse. 

To  them  all,  Anne  Askew  was  already  -i  corpse,  as  one  buried.  The 
waves  had  swept  over  her  and  all  was  again  serene  and  bright. 

The  King  extended  his  hand  to  his   young   wife,   and,   bending  down, 

•Burnet,  vol  1,  paffc  841. 


30 

whispered  in  her  ear  a  few  words,  which  nobody  understood,  but  which 
made  the  young  Queen  tremble  and  blush. 

The  Kiag,  who  observed  this,  Itrughed  and  impressed  a  kiss  on  her 
forehead,     Theri  he  turned  to  his  Court : 

Now,  good  night,  by  Lords  and  gentlemen,  said  he,  with  a  gracious 
inclination  of  the  head.     The  feast  is  at  an  end,  and  we  need  rest. 

Forget  not  the  Princess  Elizabeth,  w  hispered  Archbishop  Cranmer, 
as  he  took  leave  of  Catharine  and  pressed  to  his  lips  her  proffered  hand. 

I  will  not  forget  her,  murmured  Catharine,  and  with  throbbing  heart 
and  trembling  with  inward  dread,  she  saw  them  all  retire,  and  leave  her 
alcnc  with  the  King. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  INTERCESSION. 

And  now,  Kate,  said  the  King,  when  all  had  withdrawn,  and  he  was 
again  alono  with  her,  now  let  us  forget  everything,  save  that  we  love 
each  other. 

He  embraced  her  and  with  ardor  pressed  her  to  his  breast.  Wearied 
to  death  she  bowed  her  head  on  his  shoulder  and  lay  there,  like  a  shat- 
tered rose,  completely  broken,  completely  passive. 

You  give  me  no  kiss,  Kate?  said  Henry,  with  a  smile.  Are  you  then 
yet  angry  with  me,  that  I  did  not  comply  with  your  first  request  1  Bub 
what  would  you  have  me  do,  child  %  How  indeed  shall  I  keep  the  crim- 
son of  my  royal  mantle  always  fresh  and  bright,  unless  I  continually  dye 
it  anew  in  the  blood  of  criminals'?  Only  he  who  punishes  and  destroys 
is  truly  a  king,  and  trembling  mankind  will  acknowledge  him  as  such. 
The  tender- hearted  and  gracious  king  it  despises,  and  his  pitiful  weakness 
it  laughs  to  scorn.  Bah !  Humanity  is  such  a  wretched,  miserable 
thing,  that  it  only  respects  and  acknowledges  him  who  makes  it  tremble. 
And  people  are  such  contemptible,  foolish  children,  that  they  have  res- 
pect only  for  him  who  makes  them  feel  the  lash  daily,  and  every  now 
and  then,  whips  a  few  of  them  to  death.  Look  at  me,  Kate  ;  where  ia 
there  a  king  who  has  reigned  longer  and  more  happily  than  I?  Whom 
the  people  love  more  and  obey  better  than  me  %  This  arises  from  the 
fact,  that  I  have  already  signed  more  than  two  hundred  death  warrants,* 
and  because  every  one  believes  that,  if  he  does  not  obey  me,  I  "will 
without  delay  send  his  head  after  the  others  ! 

Oh,  you  say  you  love  me,  murmured  Catharine,  and  you  speik  only 
of  blood  and  death  while  you  are  with  me. 

*  Tytlw,  428.    Let),  vol.  J,  page  1ST. 


a? 

The  King  laughed.  You  arc  right,  Kate,  said  he,  aud  yfit,  believe 
me,  there  are  other  thoughts  slumbering  in  the  depths  of  my  heart,  and 
could  you  look  dowh  into  it,  you  would  not  accuse  me  of  coldness  and 
unkindness.  I  love  you  truly,  my  dear,  virgin  bride,  and  to  prove  it, 
you  shall  now  ask  a  favor  of  me.  Yes,  Kate,  make  me  a  request,  and 
whatever  it  may  be,  I  pledge  you  my  royal  word,  it  shall  be  granted 
you.  Now,  Kate,  think,  what  will  please  you  ?  Will  you  have  brilliants, 
or  a  castle  by  the  sea,  or,  perhaps,  a  yacht  ?  Would  you  like  line:  horses, 
or  it  may  be  some  one  has  offended  you,  and  you  would  like  his  head  ? 
If  so,  tell  me,  Kate,  and  yorii  shall  have  his  head  ;  a  wink  from  me  and 
It,  drops  at  your  feet.  For  I  am  almighty  and  all  powerful,  and  no  one  is 
so  innocent  and  pure,  that  my  wi'l  cannot  find  in  him  a  orime,  which  will 
cost  him  his  life.  Speak  then,  Kate;  what  would  you  have?  What 
will  gladden  your  heart? 

Catharine  smiled  in  spite  of  her  secret  fear  and  horror. 

Sire,  said  she,  you  have  given  me  so  many  brilliants,  that  I  can  shine 
and  glitter  with  them,  as  night  does  with  her  stars.  If  yon  give,  me  a 
ea>tle  by  th"*  sea,  that  is  at  the  sanvc  time,  banishing  me  from  White- 
hall and  your  presence  ;  I  wish,  therefore,  for  no  castle  of  my  own.  I 
wish  only  to  dwell  with  yo;i  in  your  castles,  and  my  King's  abode  shall 
be  my  only  residence. 

Beautifully  and  wisely  spoken,  said  the  King.  I  wiU'remember  these 
words  if  pver  your  enemies  endeavor  to  send  you  to  a  dwelling  and  a 
castle  other  than  that  which  your  King  occupies.  The  Te\rer  is  also  a 
castle,  Kate,  but  I  give  you  my  royal  word,  you  shall  never  occupy  that 
castle.  Yen  want  no  treasures,  and  no  castles?  It  is  then  somebody's 
head  that  you  demand  of  me? 

Yes,  Sire,  it  is  the  head  of  some  one  ! 

Ah,  I  guessed  it  then,  said  the  King  with  a  laugh.  Now  speak,  my 
little  blood-thirsty  Queen,  whose  head  will  you  have?  Who* shall  be 
brought  to  the  block  ? 

Sire,  it  is  true  I  ask  you  for  the  head  of  a  person,  said  Catlsprine,  in  a 
tender,  earnest  tone,  but  I  wish  not  that  head  to. fall,  but  to  bo  lifted  up. 
I  beg  you  for  a  human  life,  but  not  te  destroy  it,  but  on  the.  oontiary  to 
adorn  it  with  happiness  and  joy.  I  wish  to  drag  no  one  to  prison,  but 
to  restore  to  one,  dearly  beloved,  tho  freedom,  happiness  and  splendid 
position  which  belong  to  her.  Sire,  you  hav^  permitted  me  to  ask  a 
favor.  Now,  then,  I  beg  you  to  call  the  Princess  Elizabeth  to  Court. 
Let  her  resido  with  us  at  Whitehall.  Allow  her  to  be  ever  hear  me  and 
share  my  happiness  and  glory.  Sire*,  only  yesterday  the  Prii  C  v  a  Eliza- 
beth was  far  above  me  in  rank  and  position,  but  since  your  all  powerful 
might  and  grace  h:is  to-day  elevated  me  above  all  other  ■  I  may 

now  love  the  Princess  Elizabeth  as  my  sister  and  dearesf  friei  I 

me  this,  my  King!     Let  Elizabeth  come,  to  us  at  Whitehall  and  enjoy 
at  our  Court  the  houor  which  ia  her  due.* 

The  King  did  not  reply  immediately.     But  in  his  quiet  and  smiling 


air  one  could  read  that  his  young  consort's  request  had  not  angered  him. 

Something  like  an  emotion  flitted  across  his  face,  and  his  eyes  we. e 
for  a  moment  dimmed  with  tears. 

Perhaps  just  then  a  pale,  soul-harrowing  phantom  passed  before  his 
mind  and  a  glance  at  the  past  showed  him  the  beautiful  and  unfortunate 
mother*  of  Elizabeth,  whom  he  had  sentenced  to  a  cruel  death  at  th- 
hands  of  the  public  executioner,  and  whose  last  word  nevertheless  was 
a  blessing  and  a  message  of  love  for  him. 

He  passionately  seized  Catharine's  hand  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips. 
I  thank  you  !  You  are  unselfish  and  generous.  That  is  a  very  rare 
quality,  and  I  shall  always  highly  esteem  you  for  it.  Cut  you  are  also' 
brave  and  courageous,  for  you  have  dared,  what  nobody  before  you  has 
dared*  Y"U  have  twice  on  the  same  evening  interceded  for  one  con- 
demned and  one  fallen  into  disgrace.  The  fortunate,  and  those  favored 
by  me  have  always  had  many  friends,  but  I  have  never  yet  seen,  that 
the  unfortunate  and  the  exiled  have  also  found  friends.  You  are  differ- 
ent from  these  miserable,  cringing  courtiers,  different  from  this  deceitful 
and  trembling  ciowd,  that  with  chattering  teeth  fall  down  and  worship 
me  as  their  "od  and  lord  •  different  from  these  pitiful,  good-for-nothing 
mortals  who  call  themselves  my  people,  and  who  allow  me  to  yoke 
them  up  because  they  are  like  the  ox,  which  is  obedient  and  serviceable, 
only  because  he  is  so  stupid  as  not  to  know  his  own  might  and  strength. 
Ah  believe  me,  Kate,  I  would  be  a  milder  and  more  merciful  king,  if 
the  people  were  not  such  an  utterly  stupid  and  contemptible  thing;  a 
dof  which  is  so  much  the  more  submissive  and  gentle  the  more  you 
maltreat  him.  You,  Kate,  you  are  different,  and  I  am  glad  of  it.  You 
know  I  have  forever  banished  Elizabeth  from  my  Court  and  from  my 
heart  and  still  you  intercede  for  her.  That  is  noble  of  you,  and  I  love 
you  for  it,  and  grant  you  your  request.  And  that  you  may  see  how  I 
love  and -trust  you,  I  will  now  reveal  to  you  a  secret:  I  have  long  since 
wished  to  have  Elizabeth  with  me,  but  I  was  ashamed,  even  to  myself, 
of  this  weakness.  I  have  long  yearned  once  again  to  look  into  my 
daughter's  large  deep  eyes,  to  be  a  kind  and  tender  father  to  her,  and 
make  some  amends  to  her  for  the  wrong  I  perhaps  may  have  done  to 
her  mother.  For  sometimes,  in  sleepless  nights,  Anne's  beautiful  face 
comes  up  before  me  and  gazes  at  me  with  mournful,  mild  look,  and  my 
whole  heart  shudders  befufe  if.  But  1  could  .not  confess  this  to  anybody, 
for  then  they  might  say,  'hat  I  repented  what  1  had  done.  A  king 
must  be  infallible,  like  God  himself,  and  never,  through  regret  or  desire 
to  compensate,  confess  that  he  is  a  weak,  erring  mortal,  like  others. 
You  see  why  I  repressed  my  longing  and  parental  tenderness,  which 
was  suspected  by  no  one,  and  appeared  to  be  a  heartlass  father,  because 
nobody  would  help  me  and  make  it  easy  for  me  to  be  a  tender  father. 
Ah  these  courtiers  !  They  arc  so  stupid  that  they  can  understand  only 
just  what  is  echoed  in  our  words  ;  but  what  our  heart  says,  and  longs 
for,  of  that  they  know  uothing.     But  you  know,  Kate,  you  are  an  acute 

*  A.nne  Bokyn 


woman,  and  a  high  njinded  one  besides.     Come,  Kate,  a  thankful  fathe 
gives  you  this  kiss,  and  this,  aye  thi  5,   your  husband  gives  you,  m 
beautiful  charming  queen. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

*  HENRY    THE    EIGHTH    AND    HIS    WIVES. 

The  calm  of  night  had  now  succeeded  to  the  tempest  of  the  day,  and  af- 
ter «o  much  bustle,  festivity  and  rejoicing,  deep  quiet  now  reigned  in  the 
palace  of  Whitehall,  and  throughout  London.  The  happy  .subjects  of 
King  Henry  might,  without  danger,  remain  for  a  few  hours  at  least  in 
their  houses,  and  behind  closed  shutters  and  bolted  doors,  either  slumber 
and  dream,  or  give  themselves  to  their  devotional  exercise?,  on  account 
of  which,  they  had  that  day,  perhaps,  been  denounced  as  malefactors. 
They  might,  for  a  few  hours,  resign  themselves  to  the  sweet  blissful 
dream  of  being  freemen  untrammeled  in  belief  and  thought.  For  King 
Henry  s!<  :  and  likewise  Gardiner  and  the  Lord  Chancellor  had  closed 
their  watchful,  prying,  devout,  murderous  eyes,  and  reposed  awhile  from 
the  Christian  employment  of  ferreting  out  heretics. 

And  like  the  King,  the  entire  households  of  both  their  Majesties  were 
also  asleep  and  resting  from  the  festivities  of  the  royal  wedding  day, 
which,  in  pomp  and  splendor,  by  far  surpassed  the  five  preceding  mar- 
riages. ' 

It  appeared,  however,  as  though  not  all  the  Court  officials  were  taking" 
rest,  and  following  the  example  of  the  King.  For  in  a  chamber  not  far 
from  that  of  the  royal  pair,  one  could  perceive,  from  the  bright  beams 
streaming  from  the  windows,  in  spite  of  the  heavy  damask  curtains  which 
veiled  them,  that  the  lights  were  not  ytt  extinguished  ;  and  he  who 
looked  more  closely,  would  have  observed  that  now  and  then  a  human 
shadow  was  portrayed  upon  the  curtain. 

So  the  occupant  of  this  chamber  had  not  yet  gone  to  rest,  and  harrass 
ing  must  have  been  the  thoughts  which' caused  him  to  move  so  restless 
ly  to  and  fro. 

This  chamber  was  occupied  by  Lady  Jane  Douglas,  first  maid  of  hon 
or  to  the  Queen.  The  powerful  influence  of  Gardiner,  Bishop  of  Win 
Chester,  had  seconded  Catharine's  wish  to  havo  near  her  the  dear  friend 
of  her  youth,  and  without  suspecting  it,  the  Queeo  had  given  a  helping 
hand  to  brinjj  nearer  to  their  accomplishment  the  schemes  which  the 
hypocritical  Gardiner  was  directing  against  her. 

For  Catharine  knew  not  win'  ohangi     h    !  'alien  plar'e  in  the  charac- 


40 

tor  of  her  friend  in  the  four  years  in  which  she  had  not  seen  her.  She 
did  not  suspect  how  fatal  her  sojourn  in  the  strongly  Romish  city  of 
Dublin  had  been  to  the  easily  impressible  mind  of  her  early  playmate, 
and  how  much  it  had  transformed  her.  whole  being. 

Lady  Jane,  once  so  sprightly  and  gay,  had  become  a  bigoted  Roman- 
ist, who,  with  fanatical  zeal,  believed  that  she  was  serving  God  when  she 
served  the  Church  and  paid  unreserved  obedience  to  her  priests. 

Lady  Jane  Douglas  had,  therefore,  thanks  to  her  fanaticism  and  the 
teachings  of  the  priests,  become  a  complete  dissembler.  She  could 
smile,  while  in  her  heart  she  secretly  brooded  over  hatred  and  revenge. 
She  could  kiss  the  lips  of  those  whose  destruction  she  had  perhaps  just 
sworn.  She  could  preserve  a  harmless,  innocent  air,  while  she  observed 
everything,  and  took  notice  of  every  breath,  every  smile,  every  move- 
ment of  the  eyelashes. 

Hence  it  was  very  important  for  Gardiner,  Bishop  of  Winchester,  to 
bring  this  "  friend  :'  of  the  Qaeen  to  Court  and  make  of  this  disciple  of 
Loyola,  an  ally  and  friend. 

Lady  Jane  Douglas  was  alone ;  and  pacing  up  and  down  her  room, 
she  thought  over  the  events  of  the  day. 

Now,  that  no  one  was  observing  her,  she  had  laid  aside  that  gentle, 
serious  mein,  which  one  was  wont  to  see  about  her  at  other  times;  her 
countfnance  betrayed,  in  rapid  changes,  all  the  various,  sad  and  cheerful, 
tempestuous  and  tender  feelings  which  agitated  her. 

She  who  had  hitherto  had  only  one  aim  before  her  eyes,  to  serve  the 
Church,  and  to  consecrate  her  whole  life  to  this  service ;  she  whose 
heart  had  been  hitherto  open  only  to  ambition  and  devotion,  she  felt  to- 
day wholly  new,  and  never  suspected  feelings  springing  up  within  her. 
A  new  thought  had  entered  into  her  life,  the  woman  was  awakened  in 
her,  and  beat  violently  at  that  heart,  which  devotion  had  overlaid  with 
a  hard  coating. 

•  She  had  tried  to  collect  herself  in  prayer,  and  to  fill  her  soul  so  entire- 
ly with  the  idea  of  God  and  her  Church,  that  no  earthly  thought  or  de- 
sire could  find  place  therein.  But  ever  and  again  arose  before  her  mind's 
eye  the  noble  countenance  of  Henry  Howard,  ever  and  again  she  fan- 
cied that  she  heard  his  earnest,  melodious  voice,  which  made  her  heart 
shake  and  tremble  like  a  magical  incantation. 

She  had  at  first  struggled  against  these  sweet  fancies,  which  forced 
upon  her  such  strange  and  undreampt  of  thoughts,  but  at  length  the  wo- 
man in  her  got  the  better  of  the*  fanatical  Romanist,  and  dropping  into 
a  seat  she  surrendered  herself  to  her  dreams  and  fancies. 

Has  he  recognized  me?  asked  she  to  herself.  Does  he  still  remem- 
ber that  a  year  ago  we  saw  each  other  daily  at  the  King's  Court  in 
Dublin  ? 

But  no,  added  she  mournfully,  he  knows  nothing  of  it.  He  had  then 
eyes  and  sense  only  for  his  young  wife.  Ah,  and  she  was  beautiful  and 
lovely  as  one  of  the  Graces.  But  I,  am  not  1  also  beautiful  1  and  have 
not  the  noblest  cavaliers  paid  me  homage,  and  sighed  for  mc  in  unavail- 


41 

ing  love  1  How  Gomes  it  then,  that  where  I  would  please,  there  I  am 
always  overlooked  ?  How.  comes  it,  that  the  only  two  men,  for  whose 
notice  I  ever  cared,  have  never  shown  any  preference  for  me?  1  felt 
that  I  loved  Henry  Howard,  but  this  love  was  a  sin,  for  the  Earl  of  Sur- 
rey was  married.  I  therefore  tore  my  heart  from  him  by  violence,  and 
gave  it  to  God,  because  the  only  man,  whom  I  could  love,  did  not  re- 
turn my  affection. — But  even  God  and  devotion  are  not  able  to  entirely 
fill  a  woman's  heart.  In  my  breast,  there  was  still  room  t'or  ambition, 
and  since  I  could  not  be  a  happy  wife,  1  would  at  least  be  a  powerful 
queen.  Oh,  every  thing  was  so  well  devised,  so  nicely  arranged  !  Gard- 
iner had  already  spoken  of  me  to  the  King  and  inclined  him  lo  his  plan, 
and  while  I  was  hastening  at  his  call  from  Dublin  hither,  this 'little  Ca- 
tharine Parr  comes  between  and  snatches  him  from  me,  and  overturns 
all  our  schemes.  I  will  never  forgive  her.  1  will  find  a  way  to  avenge 
myself.  I  will  force  her  to  leave  this  place,  which  belongs  lo  me,  and 
if  there  is  no  other  way  for  it,  she  must  go  the  way  of  the  scaffold,  as 
did  Catharine  Howard.     I  will  be  Queen  of  England,  I  will « 

She  suddenly  interrupted  her  soliloquy  and  listened.  She  thought 
she  heard  a  slight  knock  at  the  door. 

She  was  not  mistaken  ;  this  knock  was  now  repeated,  and  indeed  with 
a  peculiar  significant  stroke. 

It  is  my  father!  said  Lady  Jane,  and  as  she  resumed  again  her  grave 
and  quiet  air,  she  proceeded  to  open  the  door. 

Ah,  you -expected  me,  then'?  said  Lord  Archibald  Douglas,  kissing  his 
daughter's  forehead. 

Yes,  I  expected  you,  my  father,  replied  Lady  Jane  with  a  smile.  I 
knew  that  you  would  come  to  communicate  to  me  your  experiences  and 
observations  during  the  day,  and  to  give  me  directions  for  the  future. 

The  Earl  seated  himself  on  the  ottoman  and  drew  his  daughter  down 
by  him. 

No  one  can  overhear  us,  can  they  ? 

Nobody,  my  father!  My  women  are  sleeping  in  the  fourth  chamber 
from  here,  and  1  have  myself  fastened  the  intervening  doors.  The  ante- 
room, through  which  you  came,  is  as  you  know  entirely  empty,  and  no- 
body can  conceal  himself  there.  It  remains  then  only  to  fasten  the  door 
leading  thence  into  the  corridor,  in  order  to  be  6ecure  from  interruption. 

She  hastened  into  the  ante-room  to  fasten  the  door. 

Now,  my  father,  we  are  secure  from  listeners,  said  she,  as  she  return- 
ed and  resumed  her  place  on  the  ottoman. 

And  the  walls,  my  child  1  know  you  whether  or  no  the  walls  are  safe  ? 
You  look  at  me  with  an  expression  of  doubt  and  surprise  !  My  God, 
what  a  harmless  and  innocent  little  maiden  you  still  are  !  Have  I  not 
constantly  reiterated  the  great  and  wise  lesson  :  "  Doubt  everything  and 
mistrust  everything,  even  what  you  see."  He  who  will  make  his  for- 
tune at  Court,  must  first  of  all  mistrust  everybody,  and  consider  every- 
body his  enemy  whom  he  is  to  flatter,  because  he  can  do  him  harm, 
and  whom  he  is  to  hug  and  kiss,  until  in  some  happy   embrace  he  can 


42 

either  plunge  a  dagger  into  his  breast  wholly  unobserved,  or  pour  poison 
into  his  mouth. — Trust  neither  men,  nor  walls,  Jane,  for  1  tell  you,  how- 
ever smooth  and  innocent  both  may  appear,  still  there  may  be  found  an 
ambuscade  behind  the  smooth  exterior.  But  I  will  for  the  present  be- 
lieve that  these  walls  are  innocent  and  conceal  no  listeners.  I  will  be- 
lieve it,  because  I  know  this  100m.  Those  were  fine  and  charming  days, 
in  which  I  became  acquainted  with  it,.  Then  I  was  yet  young  and  hand- 
some, and  King  Henry's  sister  was  not  yet  married  to  the  King  of  Scot- 
land, and  we  loved  each  oiher  so  dearly.  Ah,  I  could  relate  to  you 
wonderful  stories  of  those  happy  days.     I  could 

But,  my  dear  father,  interrupted  Lady  Jane,  secretly  trembling  at  the 
terrible  prospect  of  being  forced  to  listen  yet  again  to  the  story  of  his 
youthful  love,  which  she  had  already  heard  times  without  number,  but, 
my  dear  father,  doubtless  you  have  not  come  hither  so  late  at  night  in 
order  to  relate  to  me,  what  I, — forgive  me,  my  Lord, — what  I  long  since 
knew.  You  will  rather  communicate  to  me  what  your  keen  and  uner- 
ring glance  has  discovered  here. 

It  is  true,  said  Lord  Douglas,  sadly.  I  now  sometimes  become  lo- 
quacious— a  sure  sign  that  I  am  growing  old.  I  have,  by  no  means,  come 
here  to  speak  of  the  past,  but  of  the  present.  Let  us  then  speak  of  it. 
Ah,  I  have  to  day  perceived  much,  seen  much,  observed  much,  and  the 
result  of  my  observations  is  :  you  will  be  King  Henry's  seventh  wife. 

Impossible,  my  Lord  !  exclaimed  Lady  Jane,  whose  countenance,  in 
spite  of  her  will,  assumed  an  expression  of  delight.  ♦ 

Her  father  remarked  it.  My  child, ^said  he,  I  observe  that  you  have 
not  yet  your  features  entirely  under  your  control.  You  aimed  just  now, 
for  example,  to  play  the  coy  and  virtuous,  and  yet  your  face  had  the 
expression  of  proud  satisfaction.  But  this  by  the  way  !  The  principal 
thing  is:  You  will  be  King  Henry's  seventh  wife.!  But  in  order  to  be- 
come so,  there  is  need  of  great  heedfulness,  a  complete  knowledge  of 
present  relations,  constant  observation  of  all  persons,  impenetrable  dis- 
simulation, and  lastly,  above  all  things.,  a  very  intimate  and  profound 
knowledge  of  the  King,  of  the  history  of  his  reign  and  of  his  character. 
"Do  you  possess  this  knowledge?  Know  you  what  it  is  to  wish  to  be- 
come King  Henry's  seventh  wife,  and  how  you  must  begin  in  order  to 
attain  this?     Have  you  studied  Henry's  character? 

A  little  perhaps,  but  certainly  not  sufficiently.  For,  as  you  know, 
my  Lord,  worldly  matters  have  lain  upon  my  heart  less  than  the  Holy 
Church,  to  whose  service  I  have  consecrated  myself,  and  to  which  I 
would  have  presented  my  whole  being,  my  whole  soul,  my  whole  heart, 
as  a  sacrifice,  had  not  you  yourself  determined  otherwise  concerning  me. 
Ah,  my  father,  had  I  been  allowed  to  follow  my  inclination,  I  would 
have  retired  into  a  convent  in  Scotland,  in  order  to  spend  my  life  in 
quiet  contemplation  and  pious  penances,  and  close  my  soul  and  ear  to 
every  profane  sound.  But  my  wishes  have  not  been  regarded,  and  by 
the  mouth  of  His  venerable  and  holy  priests,  God  has  commanded  me 
to  remain  in  the  world,  and  take  upon  myself  the  yoke  of  greatness  and 


4:* 

regal  splendor.  If  I  then  struggle  and  strive  to  become  queen,  this  is 
done,  not  because  the  ,vain  pump  and  glory  allure  aie,  but  solely  be- 
cause through  me,  the  Church,  out  of  which  is  no  salvation,  may  find  a 
fulcrum  to  operate  on  this  weak  and  fickle  King,  and  because  I  am  to 
biing  him  back  again  to  the  only  true  faith. 

Very  well  placed!  cried  her  father,  who  had  stared  her  steadily  in 
the  face  while  she  was  speaking.  On  my  word,  very  well  played. 
Everything  was  in  perfect  harmony,  the  gesticulation,  the  play  of  the 
eyes  aud  the  voice.  My  daughter,  1  withdraw  my  censure.  You  have 
perfect  control  over  yourself.  But  let  us  speak  of  King  Henry.  Wc 
will  now  subject  him  to  a  thorough  analysis,  and  no  fibre  of  his  heart, 
no  atom  of  his  brain  shall  remain  unnoticed  by  us.  We  will  observe 
him  in  his  domestic,  his  political  aud  his  religious  life,  and  get  a  perfect- 
ly clear  view  of  every  peculiarity  of  his  character,  in  order  that  we  may 
deal  with  him  accordingly.  Let  us,  then,  speak  first  of  his  wives.  Their 
lives  and  deaths  afford  you  excellent  finger-posts  ;  for  I  do  not  deny  that 
it  is  an  extremely  difficult  and  dangerous  undertaking  to  be  Henry's 
consort.  There  is  needed  for  it  much  personal  courage  and  very  great 
.self  control.  Know  you  which,  of  all  his  wives,  possessed  these  in  the 
highest  degree  1  It  was  his  first  consort,  Catharine  of  Arragon  !  By 
heaven,  she  was  a  sensible  woman  and  born  a  queen.  Henry,  avaricious 
as  he  was,  would  have  gladly  given  the  best  jewel  in  his  crown,  if  he 
could  have  detected  but  a  shadow,  the  slightest  trace  of  unfaithfulness  in 
her.  But  there  was  absolutely  no  means  of  sending  this  woman  to  the 
scaffold,  and  at  that  time  he  was  as  yet  too  cowardly  and  too  virtuous 
to  put  her  out  of  the  way  by  poison.  lie,  therefore,  endured  her  long, 
until  she  was  an  old  woman  with  grey  hairs,  and  disagreeable  for  his 
eyes  to  look  upon.  So  after  he  had  been  married  to  her  seventeen 
years,  the  good  pious  King  was  all  at  once  seized  with  a  conscientious 
scruple,  and  because  he  had  read  in  the  bible  :  Thou  shalt  not  marry 
thy  sistjr,  dreadful  pangs  of  conscience  came  upon  the  noble  and  crafty 
monarch.  He  fell  on  his  knees  and  beat  his  breast  and  cried  :  "  I  have 
committed  a  great  sin  \  for  1  have  married  my  brother's  wife,  and  con- 
sequently my  sister.  But  I  will  make  amends  for  it.  I  will  dissolve 
this  adulterous  marriage  !" — Do  you  know,  child,  why  he  would  dissolve 
it1? 

Because  he  loved  Lady  Anne  Boleyn  !  said  Jane,  with  a  smile. 

Perfectly  correct !  Catharine  had  grown  old,  and  Henry  was  still  a 
young  man,  and  his  blood  shot  through  his  veins  like  streams  of  fire. 
But  he  was  yet  somewhat  virtuous  and  timid,  and  the  main  peculiarity 
of  his  character  was  as  yet  undeveloped.  He  was  not  yel  blood-thirsty, 
that  is  to  say,  he  had  not  yet  licked  blood.  But  you  will  see.  how  with 
each  new  queen  his  desire  for  blood  increased,  till  at  length  it  has  now 
become  a  wasting  disease.  Had  he  then  had  the  system  of  lies  that  he 
now  has,  he  would  some  how  have  bribed  a  slanderer,  who  would  have 
declared  that  he  was  Catharine's  lover.  But  he  was  yet  so  innocent;  he 
wanted  yet  to  gratify  his  darling  lusts  in  a  perfectly  legal  wav.     So 


44 

Anne  Boleyn  must  become  his  queen,-  that  he  might  love  her.  And 
in  order  to  attain  this,  he  threw  down  the  glove  to  the  whole  world,  be- 
came an  euemy  to  the  Pope,  and  set  himself  in  open  opposition  to  the 
holy  head  of  the  Church,  Because  the  holy  father  would  not  dissolve 
his  marriage,  King  Henry  become  an  apostate  and  atheist.  He  consti- 
tuted himself  head  of  his  church,  and  by  virtue  of  his  authority  as  such, 
he  declared  his  marriage  with  Catharine  of  Arragon  null  and  void,  lie 
said  that  he  had  not  in  his  heart  given  his  consent,  to  this  marriage,  and 
that  it  had  not  consequently  been  properly  consummated .*  It  is  true, 
Catharine  had  in  the  Princess  Mary,  a  living  witness  of  the  consummation 
of  her  marriage,  but  w  hat  did  the  enamoured  and  selfish  King  care  about 
that  1  Princess  Mary  was  declared  a  bastard,  and  the  Queen  was  now 
to  be  nothing  more  than  the  widow  of  the  Prince  of  Wales.  It  was 
strictly  forbidden  to  lunger  give  the  title  and  to  show  the  honor  due  to 
a  queen,  to  the  woman  who  for  seventeen  years  had  been  Queen  of 
England,  and  had  been  treated  and  honored  as  such.  No  one  was  per- 
mitted to  call  her  anything  but  the  Princess  of  Wales,  and  that  nothing 
might  disturb  the  good  people  or  the  noble  Queen  herself  in  this  illusion, 
Catharine  was  banished  from  the  Court  and  exiled  to  a  castle,,  which  she 
had  once  occupied  as  consort  of  Arthur,  Prince  of  Wales.  And  Henry 
likewise  allowed  her  only  the  attendance  and  pension  which  the  law 
appoints  to  the  widow  of  the  Prince  of  Wales. f 

I  have  over  held  this  to  be  one  of  the  most  prudent  and  subtle  acts  of 
our  exalted  King,  and  in  the  whole  history  of  this  divorce,  the  King  con- 
ducted himself  with  admirable  consistency  and  resolution.  But  this  is 
to  say :  he  was  excited  by  opposition.  Mark  this  then,  my  child,  for 
this  is  the  reason  why  I  have  spoken  to  you  of  these  things  so  much  at 
length.  Mark  this  then :  King  Henry  is  every  way  entirely  unable  to 
bear  contradiction,  or  to  be  subjected  to  restraint.  If  you  wish  to  win 
him  to  any  purpose,  you  must  try  to  draw  him  from  it;  you  must  sur- 
round it  with  difficulties  and  hindrances.  Therefore  show  yourself  coy 
and  indifferent;  that  will  excite  him.  Do  not  court  his  looks;  then  will 
he  seek  to  encounter  yours.  And  when  finally  h,e  loves  you,  dwell  so 
long  on  your  virtue  and  your  conscience,  that  at  length  Henry,  in  order 
to  quiet  your  conscience,  will  send  this  troublesome  Catharine  Parr  to 
the  block,  or  do  as  he  did  with  Cathariue  of  Arragon,  and  declare  that 
he  did  not  mentally  give  his  consent  to  this  marriage,  and  therefore 
Catharine  is  no  queen,  but  only  Lord  Neville's  widow.  Ah,  since  he 
made  himself  high  priest  of  his  church,  there  is  no  impediment  for  him 
in  matters  of'this  kind,  for  only  God  is  mightier  than  he. 

The  beautiful  Anne  Boleyn,  Henry's  second  wife,  proved  this.  I  have 
seen  her  often,  and  I  tell  you,  Jane,  she  was  of  wondrous  beauty.  Who- 
ever looked  upon  her,  could  not  but  love  her,  and  he,  whom  she  smiled, 
upon,  felt  himself  fascinated  and  glorified.  When  she  had  borne  to  the 
King,  the  Princess  Elizabeth,  I  heard  him  say,  that  he  had  attained  the 

•  Burnet,  vol.  1 ,  page  87. 
t  Burnet,  vol.  1,  page  120. 


45 

summit  of  his  happiness,  the  goal  of  his  wishes,  for  the  Queen  had  borne 
him  a  daughter,  stnd  so  there  was  a  regular  aud  legitimate  successor  10 
his  throne.     But  this  happiness  lasted  only  a  brief  time. 

The  King  conceived  one  day  that  Anne  Boleyn  was  not,  as  he  had 
hitherto  believed,  the  most  beautiful  woman  ia  the  world  ;  but  that  there 
were  women  still  more  beautiful  at  his  Court,  who  therefore  had  a  stronger 
vocation  to  become  Queen  of  England.  lis  fend  seen  Jane  Seymour, 
and  she  without,  doubt  was  handsomer  than  Anne  Boleyn,  for  she  was 
not  as  yet  the  King's  consort,  and  there  was  an  obstacle  to  his  possession 
of  her — the  Queen,  Anne  Boleyn. 

This  obstacle  must  be  got  out  of  the  way. 

Henry,  by  virtue  of  his  plenitude  of  power,  might  again  have  been 
divorced  from  his  wife,  but  he  did  hot  like  to  repeat  himself,  he  wished 
to  be  always  original ;  and  no  one  was  to  be  allowed  to  say  that  his 
divorces  were  only  the  cloak  of  his  capricious  lewdness. 

He  had  divorced  Catharine  of  Arragon  on  account  of  conscientious 
scruples  ;  therefore,  some  other  means  must  be  devised  for  Anne  Boleyn. 

The  shortest  way  to  be  rid  of  her  was  the  scaffold.  Why  should  not 
Anne  travel  that  road,  since  so  many  had  gone  it  before  her?  For  a 
new  force  had  entered  into  the  King's  life;  (lie  tiger  had  licked  blood ! 
His  instinct  was  aroused,  and  he  recoiled  no  more  from  those  crimson 
rills  which  flowed  in  the  veins  of  his  subjects. 

He  had  given  Lady  Anne  Boleyn  the  crimson  mantle  of  royalty,  why 
then  should  she  not  give  him  her  crimson  blood  %  For  this,  there  was 
wanted  only  a  pretext,  and  this  was  soon  found.  Lady  Rochfort  was 
Jane  Seymour's  aunt,  and  she  found  some  men,  of  whom  she  asserted 
that  ihey  had  been  lovers  of  the  fair  Anne  Boleyn.  She,  as  the  Queen's 
first  lady  of  the  bed  chamber,  could  of  course  give  the  most'minute  par- 
ticulars concerning  the  matter,  and  the  King  believed  her.  He  believed 
her,  though  these  four  pretended  lovers  of  the  Queen,  who  were  executed 
for  their  crime,  all,  with  the  exception  of  a  single  one,  asseverated  that 
Anne  Boleyn  was  innocent,  and  that  they  had  never  been  in  her  presence. 
The  only  one  who  accused  the  Queen  of  illicit  intercourse  with  him,  was 
James  Smcaton,  a  musician.*  But  he  had  been  promised  his  life  for 
this  confession.  However,  it  was  not  thought  advisable  to  keep  this 
promise,  for  fear  that,  when  confronted  with  the  Queen,  he  might  not 
have  the  strength  to  sustain  his  assertion.  But  nut  to  be  altogether  un- 
thankful to  him  for  so  useful  a  confession,  they  showed  him  the  favor  of 
not  executing  him  with  the  axe,  but  the  more  agreeable  and  easier 
death  of  hanging  was  vouchsafed  to  him.f 

So  the  fair  and  lovely  Anne  Boleyn  must  lay  her  head  upon  the  block. 
The  day  on  which  this  took  place,  the  King  had  ordered  a  great  hunt, 
and  early  that  morning  we  rode  out  to  Epping  forest.  The  King  was, 
at  first,  unusually  cheerful  and  humorous,  and  he  commanded  me  to 
ride  near  him,  and  tell  him  something  from   the  chroniqve  scandaleuse 

•Tjtlrr. 

tBuriet,  vol.  1,  page  305. 


40 

of  our  Court.  He  laughed  at  my  spiteful  remarks,  and  the  worse  I 
calumniated,  the  merrier  was  the  King.  Finally,  we  halted  ;  the  King 
had  talked  and  laughed  so  much  that  he  had  at  last  become  hungry. 
So  he  encamped  under  an  oak,  and,  in  the  midst  of  his  suite  and  his 
dogs,  he  took  a  breakfast,  which  pleased  him  very  much,  although  he 
had  now  become  a  little  quieter  and  mote  silent,  and  sometimes  turned 
his  face  towards  the  direction  of  London  with  visible  restlessness  and 
anxiety.  But  suddenly  was  heard  from  that  direction  the  dull  sound  o  f 
a  cannon.  We  all  knew  that  this  was  the  signal  which  was  to  make 
kuown  to  the  King  that  Anne  Boleyn's  head  had  fallen.  We  knew  it, 
and  a  shudder  ran  through  our  whole  frames.  The  King 'alone  smiled, 
and  as  he  arose  and  took  his  weapon  from  my  hand,  he  said,  with  cheer- 
ful flice,  "It  is  done,  the  business  is  finished.  Unleash  the  dogs,  and 
let  us  follw  the  boar.':* 

That,  said  Lord  Douglas,  sadly,  that  was  King  Henry's  funeral  dis- 
course over  his  charming  and  innocent  wife. 

Do  you  regret  her.  my  father  ?  asked  Lady  Jane,  with  surprise.  But 
Anne  Boleyn  was,  it  seems  to  me,  an  enemy  of  our  Church,  and  an  ad- 
herent of  the  accursed  new  doctrine. 

Her  father  shrugged  his  shoulders  almost  contemptuously.  That 
did  not  prevent  Lady  Anne  from  being  one  of  the  fairest  and  loveliest 
women  of  Old  England.  And,  besides,  much  as  she  inclined  to  the 
new  doctrine,  she  did  us  essential  good  service,  for  she  it  was  who  bore 
the  blame  of  Thomas  Move's  death.  Since  he  had  not  approved  her 
marriage  with  the  King,  she  hated  him,  as  the  King  hated  him,  because 
he  would  not  take  the  oath  of  supremacy.  Henry,  however,  would 
have  spared  him,  for  at  that  time  he  still  possessed  fome  respect  for 
learning  ard  virtue,  and  Thomas  More  was  so  renowned  a  scholar  that 
the  King  held  him  in  reverence.  But  Anne  Boleyn  demanded  his  death, 
and  so  Thomas  More  must  be  executed.  Oh,  believe  me,  Jane,  that 
was  an  important  and  sad  hour  for  nil  England,  the  hour  when  Thomas 
More  laid  his  head  upon  the  block.  We  only,  we  gay  people  in  the  palace 
of  Whitehall,  we  were  cheerful  and  merry.  We  were  dancing  a  new 
kind  of  dance,  the  music  of  which  was  written  by  the  King  himself. 
For  you  know  the  King  is  not  merely  an  author,  but  also  a  composer, 
and  as  he  now  writes  pious  books,  so  he  then  composed  dances.f  That 
evening,  after  we  had  danced  till  we  were  tired,  we  played  cards.  Just 
a=;  I  had  won  a  few  guineas  from  the  King,  the  Lieutenant  of  the  Tower 
came  with  the  tidings  that  the  execution  was  over,  and  gave  us  a  de- 
scription of  the  last  moments  of  the  great  scholar.  The  King  threw 
down  his  cards,  and  turning  an  angry  look  on  Anne  Boleyn,  said  in  an 
agitated  voice  :  "  You  are  to  blame  for  the  death  of  this  man  !"  Then 
ho  arose  and  withdrew  to  his  apartments,  whither  no  one  was  permitted 
to  follow  him,  not  even ^,he  Queen. J     You  see,  then,  that  Anne  Boleyn 

♦The  King's  very  words ;  Tytler,  page  883.    The  oak  under  which  this  took  place  is  still  pointed 
out  in  Epping  forest,  and  in  fact  is  not  less  remarkable,  as  the  oak  of  Charles  II. 
t  Granger's  Biographical  History  of  England.    Vol.  1,  page  1ST. 
%  Tytler;  page  351. 


17 

had  a  claim  on  our  gratitude,  for  the  death  of  Thomas  More  delivered 
Old  England  from  another  great  peril.  Melanchthon  and  Bucer,  and 
with  them  several  of  the  greatest  pulpit  orators  of  Germany,  had  set 
out  to  come  to  London,  and,  as  delegates  of  the  Germanic  Protestant 
Princes,  to  nominate  the  King  as  head  of  their  alliance.  But  the  terri- 
ble news  of  the  execution  of  their  friend  frightened  them  back,  and 
caused  them  to  return  when  half  way  here.* 

Peace,  then,  to  the  ashes  of  unhappy  Anne  Boleyn  !  However,  she 
was  avenged  too,  avenged  on  her  successor  and  rival,  for  whose  sake 
she.  was  made  to  mount  the  scaffold  ;  avenged  on  Jane  Seymour. 

But  she  was  the  Kind's  beloved  wife,  said  Jane,  and  when  she  died 
the  King  mourned  for  her  two  year?. 

He  mourned  !  exclaimed  Lord  Douglas,  contemptuously.  He  has 
mourned  for  all  his  wives.  Even  for  Anne  Boleyn  he  put  on  mourn- 
ing, and  in  his  white  mourning  apparel,  the  day  after  Anne's  execution, 
he  led  Jane  Seymour  to  the  marriage  altar. j-  This  outward  mourning, 
what  does  it  signify?  Anne  Boleyn  also  mourned  for  Catharine  of 
Arragon,  whom  she  had  pushed  from  the  throne.  For  eight  weeks  she 
was  seen  in  yellow  mourning  on  account  of  Henry's  first  wife  ;  but 
Anne  Boleyn  was  a  shrewd  woman,  and  she  knew  very  well  that  the 
yellow  mourning  dress  was  exceedingly  becoming  to  her  J 

But  the  King's  mourning  was  not  merely  external,  said  Lady  Jane. 
He  mourned  really,  for  it  was  two  years  before  he  resolved  on  a  new 
marriage. 

Earl  Douglas  laughed.  But  he  cheered  himself  during  these  two 
years  of  widowhood  with  a  very  beautiful  mistress,  the  French  Mar- 
chioness of  Montreuil,  and  he  would  have  married  her  had  not  the  pru- 
dent beauty  preferred  returning  to  France,  because  she  found  it  alto- 
gether too  dangerous  to  become  Henry's  consort.  For  it  is  not  to  be 
denied,  a  baleful  star  hovers  over  Henry's  queens,  and  none  of  them 
has  descended  from  the  throne  in  a  natural  way. 

Yet,  father,  Jane  Seymour  did  so  in  a  very  natural  way  ;  she  died  in 
childbed. 

Well,  yes,  in  childbed.  And  yet  by  no  natural  death,  for  she  could 
have  been  saved.  But  Henry  did  not  wish  to  save  her.  His  love  had 
already  grown  cool,  and  when  the  physicians  asked  him  :  whether  they 
should  save  the  mother  or  the  child,  he  replied  :  "Save  the  child,  and 
let  the  mother  die.  I  can  get  wives  enough. "||  Ah,  my  daughter,  [ 
hope  you  may  not  die  such  a  natural  death  as  poor  Jane  Seymour  did, 
for  whom,  as  you  say,  the  King  mourned  two  years.  But  after  that 
period,  something  new,  something  altogether  extraordinary  happened  to 
the  King.  He  fell  in  love  with  a  picture,  and  because,  in  his  proud 
self-conceit,  he  was  convinced  that  the  fine  picture  which  Holbein  had 
made  of  him,  was  not  at  all  flattered,  but  entirely  true  to  nature,  it  did 

•  Tytler ;  page  857. 

t  Left] ;  vol.  1,  page  1*0.  Granger*  rol.  1,  page  119. 
X  Let! ;  vol.  1,  page  ISO.  Granger ;  vol.  1,  page  119. 
1  Burnet. 


•         .48 

not  occur  to  him  that  Holbein's  likeness  of  the  Princess  Anne  of  Cleves 
might  be  somewhat  flattered,  and  not  altogether  faithful.  So  the  King 
fell  in  love  with  a  picture,  and  sent  Ambassadors  to  Germany  to  bring 
the  original  of  the  portrait  to  England  as  his  bride.  He  himself  went 
to  meet  her  at  Rochester,  where  she  was  to  land.  Ah,  my  child,  I  have 
witnessed  many  queer  and  droll  things  in  my  eventful  life,  but  the 
scene  at  Rochester,  however,  is  among  my  most  spicy  recollections. 
The  King  was  as  enthusiastic  as  a  poet,  and  deep  in  love  as  a  youth  of 
twenty,  and  so  began  our  romantic  wedding  trip,  on  which  Henry  dis- 
guised himself  and  took  part  in  it,  assuming  the  name  of  My  Cousin. 
As  the  King's  Master  of  Horse,  I  was  honored  wfth  the  commission  of 
carrying  to  the  young  Queen  the  greeting  of  her  ardent  husband,  and 
begging  her  to  receive  the  Knight,  who  would  deliver  to  her  a  present 
from  the  King.  She  granted  my  request  with  a  grin  which  made  visi- 
ble a  frightful  row  of  yellow  teeth.  I  opened  the  door  and  invited  the 
King  to  enter.  Ah,  you  ought  to  have  witnessed  that  scene!  It  is  the 
only  farcical  passage  in  the  bloody  tragedy  of  Henry's  married  life. 
You  should  have  seen  with  what  hasty  impatience  the  King  rushed  in, 
then  suddenly,  at  the  sight  of  her,  staggered  back  and  stared  at  the 
Princess.  Slowly  retiring,  he  silently  thrust  into  my  hand  the  rich 
present  that  he  had  brought,  while  at  the  same  time  he  threw  a  look  of 
flaming  wrath  on  Lord  Cromwel),  who  had  brought  him  the  portrait  of 
the  Princess  and  won  him  to  this  marriage.  The  romantic,  ardent  lover 
vanished  with  this  look  at  his  beloved.  He  approached  the  Princess 
again,  but  this  time  not  as  a  cavalier,  but,  with  harsh  and  hasty  words, 
he  told  her  he  was  the  King  himself.  He  bade  her  welcome  in  a  few 
words,  and  gave  her  a  cold,  formal  embrace.  He  then  hastily  took  my 
hand  and  drew  me  out  of  the  room,  beckoning  the  rest  to  follow  him. 
And  when  at  length  we  were  out  of  the  atmosphere  of  this  poor  ugly 
Princess,  and  far  enough  away  from  her,  the  King,  with  angry  counte- 
nance, said  to  Cromwell :  "  Call  you  that  a  beauty  1  She  is  a  Flanders 
Mare,  but  no  Princess."*  Anne's  ugliness  was  surely  given  her  of 
God,  that  by  it,  the  Church,  in  which  alone  is  salvation,  might  be  de- 
livered from  the  great  danger  which  threatened  it.  For  had  Anne  of 
Cleves,  the  sister,  neice,  grand  daughter  and  aunt  of  all  the  Protestant 
Princes  of  Germany,  been  beautiful,  incalculable  danger  would  have 
threatened  our  Church.  The  King  could  not  overcome  his  repugnance, 
and  again  his  conscience,  which  always  appeared  to  be  most  tender  and. 
scrupulous,  when  it  was  farthest  from  it  and  most  regardless,  rmist  come 
to  his  aid. 

The  King  declared  that  he  had  been,  only  in  appearance,  not  in  his 
innermost  conscience,  disposed  to  this  marriage,  from  which  he  now 
shrunk  back,  because  it  would  be,  properly  speaking,  nothing  more  than 
perfidy,  perjury  and  bigamy.  For  Anne's  father  had  once  betrothed 
her  to  the  son  of  the  Duke  of  Lorraine,  and  had  solemnly  pledged  him 
his  word,  to  give  her  as  a  wife  to  the  young  Duke  as  soon  as  ''she  was 
*  Burnet ;  page  174,    Tytler,  page  417. 


49 

of  age;  rings  had  been  exchanged  and  the  marriage  contract  already 
drawn  up.  Anne  of  Cleves,  therefore,  was  virtually  already  married, 
and  Henry,  with  his  tender  conscience,  could  not  make  one  already  mar- 
ried, his  wife.*  He  made  her,  therefore,  his  sister,  and  gave  her  the 
palace  at  Richmond  for  a  residence,  in  case  she  wished  to  remain  in  Eng- 
land.—  She  accepted  it;  her  blood,  which  crept  coldly  and  quietly 
through  her  veins,  did  not  rise  at  the  thought  of  being  despised  and  re- 
pudiated.    She  accepted  it  and  remained  in  England. 

She  was  rejected  because  «he  was  ugly  ;  and  now  the  King  selected 
Catharine  Howard  for  his  fifth  consort,  because  she  was  pretty. — Of  this 
marriage  I  know  but  little  to  tell  you,  for,  at  that  time,  Lhad  already 
gone  to  Dublin  as  Minister,  whither  you  soon  followed  me.  Catharine 
was  very  beautiful,  and  the  King's  heart,  now  growing  old,  once  more 
flamed  high  with  youthful  love.  He  loved  her  more  warmly  than  any 
other  of  his  wives.  He  was  so  happy  in  her,  that,  kneeling  down  pub- 
licly in  the  Church,  with  a  loud  voice,  he  thanked  God  for  the  happiness 
■which  his  beautiful  young  queen  atforded  him.  But  this  did  not  last 
long.  Even  while  the  King  was  extolling  it,  his  happiness  had  reached 
its  highest  point,  and  the  next  day  he  was  dashed  down  irrto  the  abyss. 
I  speak  without  poetical  exaggeration,  my  child.  The  day  before,  he 
thanked  God  for  his  happiness,  and  the  next  morning  Catharine  Howard 
was  already  imprisoned  and  accused,  as  an  unfaithful  wife,  a  shameless 
strumpet.f  MoVe  than  seven  lovers  had  preceded  her  royal  spouse,  and 
some  of  them  had  accompanied  her  even  on  the  Progress  through  York- 
shire, which  she  made  with  the  King,  her  husband.  This  time  it  was  no 
pretence,  for  he  had  not  yet  had  time  to  fall  in  love  with  another  wo- 
man, and  Catharine  well  knew  how  to  enchain  him  and  ever  to  kindle 
new  flames  within  him.  But  just  because  he  loved  her,  he  could  not  for- 
give her  for  having  deceived  him.  In  love,  there  is  so  much  cruelty  and 
hatred ;  and  Henry,  who  but  yesterday  lay  at  her  feet,  burned  to  day 
with  rage  and  jealousy,  as  yesterday  with  love  and  rapture.  In  his  rage, 
however,  he  still  loved  her,  and  when  he  held  in  his  hand  indubitaUe 
proof  of  her  guilt,  he  wept  like  a  child.  But  since  he  could  no  longer 
be  her  lover,  he  would  be  her  hangman  ;  since  she  had  spotted  the  crim- 
son of  his  royal  mantle,  he  would  dye  it  afresh  with  her  own  crimson 
blood.  And  he  did  so.  Catharine  Howard  was  forced  to  lay  her  beau- 
tiful head  upon  the  block,  as  Anne  Boleyn  had  done  before  her;  and 
Anne's  death  was  now  once  more  avenged.  Lady  Rochfort  had  been 
Anne  Boleyn's  accuser,  and  her  testimony  had  brought  that  Queen  to 
the  scaffold  ;  but  now  she  was  convicted  of  being  Catharine  Howard's 
assistant  and  confidant  in  her  love  adventures,  and  with  Catharine,  Lady 
Rochfort  also  ascended  the  scaffold.  . 

Ah,  the  King  needed  a  long  time  to  recover  from  this  blow.  Ho 
searched  two  years  for  a  pure,  uncontaminated  virgin,  who  might  be- 
come his  queen  without  danger  of  the  scaffold.     But  he  found  none;  so 

*  Bnmet 

t  Tyll.T,  page  4?.* 


.30    ' 

he  then  took  Lord  Nevill's  widow,  Catharine  Parr. — But  you  know,  my 
child,  that  Catharine  is  an  unlucky  name  for  Henry's  queens.  The  first 
Catharine  he  repudiated,  the  second  he  beheaded.  What  will  he  do 
with  the  third  I 

Lady  Jane  smiled.  Catharine  does  not  love  him,  said  she,  and  I  be- 
lieve she  would  willingly  consent,  like  Aune  of  Cleves,  to  become  his 
sister,  instead  of  his  wife. 

Catharine  does  not  love  the  King  ?  inquired  Lord  Douglas  in  breath- 
less suspense.     She  loves  another,  then  ? 

No,  my  father !  Her  heart  is  yet  like  a  sheet  of  white  paper ;  no  sin- 
gle name  is  yet  inscribed  there. 

Then  we  must  write  a  name  there,  and  this  name  must  drive  her  to 
the  scaffold,  or  into  banishment !  said  her  father  impetuously.  It  is 
your  business,  my  child,  to  take  a  steel  graver,  and  in  some  way  write  a 
name  in  Catharine's  heart  so  deep  and  indelibly  that  the  King  may 
some  day  read  it  there. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

FATHER    AND    DAUGHTER. 

Both  now  kept  silent  for  a  long  time.  Lord  Douglas  had  leaned  back 
on  the  ottoman,  and  respiring  heavily,  seemed  to  breathe  a  little  from 
the  exertion  of  his  long  discourse.  But"  while  he  rested,  his  large,  pierc- 
ing eyes  were  constantly  turned  to  Jane,  who,  leaning  back  on  the  cush- 
ion, was  staring  thoughtfully  into  the  empty  air,  and  seemed  to  be  en- 
tirely forgetful  of  her  father's  presence. 

A  cunning1' smile  played  for  a  moment  over  the  countenance  of  the 
Earl  as  he  observed  her,  but  it  quickly  disappeared,  and  now  deep  folds 
of  care  gathered  on  his  brow. 

As  he  saw  that  Lady  Jane  was  plunging  deeper  and  deeper  into 
revery,  he  at  length  laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder  and  hastily  asked  : 
what  are  you  thinking  of,  Jane  ? 

She  gave  a  sudden  start,  and  looked  at  the  Earl  with  an  embarrassed 

air. 

I  am  thinking  of  all  that  you  have  been  saying  to  me,  my  father,  re- 
plied she  calmly.  I  am  considering  what  benefit  to  our  object  1  can 
draw  from  ifc. 

Lord  Douglas  shook  his  head  and  smiled  incredulously.  At  length 
he  said  solemnly,  take  care,  Jane,  take  care  that  your  heart  does  not  de- 
ceive your  head.     If  we  would  reach  our  aim  here,  you  must,  above  all 


r>i 

thing?,  maintain  a  cool  heart  and  a  cool  head.  Do  you  still  possess  both, 
Jane  ? 

In  confusion  she  cast  down  her  eyes  before  his  penetrating  look.  Lord 
Douglas  noticed  it,  and  a  passionate  word  was  already  on  his  lips.  But 
he  kept  it  back.  As  a  prudent  diplomats,  he  kuew  that  it  is  often  more 
politic  to  destroy  a  thing  by  ignoring  it,  thau  to  enter  into  an  open  con- 
test with  it. 

The  feelings  are  like  the  dragon's  teeth  of  Theseus.  If  you  contend 
with  them,  they  always  grow  again  anew,  and  with  renewed  energy  out 
of  the  soil. 

■  Lord  Douglas,  therefore,  was  very  careful  not  to  notice  his  daughter's 
confusion.  Pardon  me,  my  daughter,  if,  in  my  zeal  and  ray  tender  care 
for  you,  I  go  too  far.  I  kuow  that  your  dear  and  beautiful  head  is  cool 
enough  to  wear  a  crown.  I  know  that  in  your  heart  dwell  only  ambi- 
tion and  religion.  Let  us,  then,  farther  consider  what  we  have  to  do  in 
order  to  attain  our  end.  r  ,u 

We  have  spoken  of  Henry  as  a  husband,  of  Henry  »fls  a  man  •  and  I 
hope  you  have  drawn  some  useful  lessons  from  the  fate  of  his  wives. 
You  have  learned  that  it  is  necessary  to  possess  all  the  good  and  all  the 
bad  qualities  of  woman  in  order  to  control  this  stiff-necked  and  tyranni 
cal.  this  lustful  and  bigoted,  this  vain  and  sensual  man,  whom  the  wrath 
of  God  has  made  King  of  England.  You  must,  before  all  things  be  per. 
feet  master  of  the  difficult  art  of  coquetry.  You  must  become  a  female 
Proteus.  Today  a  Messalina,  tomorrow  a  nun;  today  one  of  the 
literati,  to  morrow  a  playful  child  ;  you  must  ever  seek  to  surprise  the 
King,  to  keep  him  on  the  stretch,  to  enliven  him.  You  must  never  give 
•way  to  the  dangerous  feeling  of  security,  for  in  fact  King  Henry's  wife 
is  never  safe.  The  axe  always  hangs  over  her  head,  and  you  must  ever 
consider  your  husband  as  only  a  fickle  lover,  whom  )ou  must  every 
day  captivate  anew. 

You  speak  as  though  I  were  already  queen,  said  Lady  Jane  smiling* 
and  yet  I  cannot  but  think,  that  in  order  to  come  to  that,  many  dif- 
ficulties are  to  be  overcome,  which  may  indeed  perhaps  be  insuperable. 

Insuperable?  exclaimed  her  father  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 
With  the  aid  of  the  Holy  Church,  no  hindrance  is  insuperable.  Only 
■we  must  be  perfectly  acquainted  with  our  end  and  our  means.  Do  not 
despise,  then,  to  sound  the  character  of  this  King  ever  and  again,  and  be 
certain  you  will  always  find  in  him  .some  new  hidden  recess,  some  sur- 
prising  peculiarity. — We  have  spoken  of  him  as  a  husband  and  the  fa- 
ther of  a  family,  but  of  his  religious  and  political  standing,  I  have  as  yet 
told  you  nothing.  And  yet  that,  my  child,  is  the  principal  point  in  his 
whole  character. 

In  the  first  place,  then,  Jane,  I  will  tell  you  a  secret.  The  King,  who 
has  constituted  himself  high  pr?est  of  his  Church, — whom  the  Pope  once 
called  c,The  Knight  of  the  Truth  and  the  Faith,"— the  King  has  at  the 
bottom  of  his  heart  no  religion.  He  is  a  wavering  reed,  which  the  wiud 
turns  this  way  to  day,  :\v,<\  that  way  to-morrow.     He  knows  not  his  own 


52 

will,  and  coquetting  with  both  parties,  to-day  he  is  a  heretic,  in  order  to 
exhibit  himself  as  a  >-trong,  unprejudiced,  enlightened  man  ;  tomorrow  a 
Catholic,  in  order  to  show  himself  an  obedient  and  humble  servant  of 
God,  who  seeks  and  finds  his  happiness  only  in  love  and  piety.  But  for 
both  confessions  of  faith  he  possesses  at  heart  a  profound  indifference ; 
and  had  the  Pope  at  that  time  placed  no  difficulties  in  his  way,  had  he 
consentedvto  his  divorce  from  Catharine,  Henry  would  have  always  re- 
mained a  very  good  and  active  servant  of  the  Catholic  Church.  But 
they  were  imprudent  enough  to  irritate  him  by  contradiction  ;  they  stim- 
ulated his  vanity  and  pride  to  resistance;  and  so  Henry  became  a 
Church  reformer,  not  from  conviction,  but  out  of  pure  love  of  opposi- 
tion. And  that,  my  child,  you  must  never  forget,  for,  by  means  of  this 
lever,  you  may  very  well  convert  him  again  to  a  devout,  dutiful. and 
obedient  servant  of  our  Holy  Church.  He  has  renounced  the  Pope, 
and  usurped  the  supremacy  of  the  Church,  but  he  cannot  summon  up 
courage  to  earn  out  his  work  ant'  throw  himself  wholly  into  the  arms 
of  the  Reformation.  However  much  he  has  opposed  the  person  of  the 
Pope,  still  he  has  always  remained,  devoted  to  the  Church,  although  per- 
haps he  does  not  know  it  himself.  He  is  no  Catholic,  and  he  hears 
mass  ;  he  has  broken  up  the  monasteries,  and  yet  forbids  priests  to  mar- 
ry ;  he  has  the  Lord's  supper  administered  under  both  kinds,  and  be- 
lieves in  the  real  transubstantiation  of  the  wine  into  the  Redeemer's 
holy  blood.  He  destroys  the  convents,  and  yet  commands  that  vows  of 
chastity,  spoken  by  man  or  woman,  must  be  faithfully  kept ;  and  lastly, 
Auricular  Confession  is  still  a  necessary  constituent  of  his  Church.  And 
the.se  he  calls  his  Six  Articles  *  and  the  foundation  of  his  English  Church. 
Poor,  short-sighted  and  vain  man  !  Pie  knows  not  that  he  has  done  all 
this  only  because  he  wanted  to  be  Pope  himself,  and  that  he  is  noth- 
ing more  than  an  anti-pope  of  the  Holy  Father  at  Rome,  whom  he,  in  his 
blasphemous  pride,  dares  call  "  the  Bishop  of  Rome." 

But  for  this  audacity,  said  Jane,  with  looks  of  burning  rage,  the  ana- 
thema has  struck  him  and  laid  a  curse  upon  his  head,  and  given  him  up 
to  the  hatred,  contempt  and  scorn  of  his  own  subjects.  Therefore,  the 
holy  Father  has  justly  named  him  :( the  apostate  and  lost  son,  the  blas- 
pheming usurper  of  the  Holy  Church."  Therefore,  the  Pope  has  declar- 
ed his  crown  forfeited,  and  promised  it  to  him  who  will  vanquish  him 
by  force  of  arms.  ,  Therefore,  the  Pope  has  forbidden  any  of  his  subjects 
to  obey  him,  and  respect  and  recognize  him  as  King  f 

And  yet  he  remains  King  of  England,  and  his  subjects  still  obey  him 
in  slavish  submission,  exclaimed  Earl  Douglas,  shrugging  his  shoulders. 
It  was  very  unwise  to  go  so  far  in  threats,  for  one  should  never  threaten 
with  punishment  which  he  is  not  likewise  able  to  really  execute.  This 
Romish  interdict  has  rather  been  an  advantage  to  the  King,  than  done 
him  harm,  for  it  has  forced  the  King  into  haughtier  opposition,  and 
proved  to  his  subjects  that  a  man  may  really  be  under  an  interdict  and 
yet  in  prosperity  and  the  full  enjoyment  of  life. 

"'Burnet,  roll,  page  259.    Tvtler,  page  402,       t  Lett,  vol,  1,  page  134, 


The  Pope's  excommunication  has  not  hurt  the  King  at  all  ;  his  throne 
has  not  felt  the  slightest  jar  from  it,  but  the  apostaey  of  the  King  bus 
deprived  the  Holy  See  at  Rome  of  a  very  perceptible  support ;  therefore 
we  must  bring  the.  faithless  King  back  to  the  Holy  Church,  for  she  needs 
him.  And  this,  my  daughter,  is  the  work  that  God  and  the  will  of  his 
holy  representative  have  placed  in  your  hauds.  A  noble,  glorious,  and 
at  the  same  time  profitable  work,  for  it  makes  you  a  queen  !  But  I  re- 
peat, be  cautious,  never  irritate  the  King  by  contradiction.  Without 
their  knowing  it,  we  must  lead  the  wavering  where  salvation  awaits 
them.  For,  as  we  have  said,  he  is  a  waverer;  and  in  the  haughty  pride 
of  his  royalty,  he  has  the  presumption  to  wish  to  stand  above  all  parties, 
and  to  be  himself  able  to  found  a  new  Church,  a  Churoh  which  is  neither 
Catholic  nor  Protestant,  but  his  Church  ;  to  which,  in  the  Six  Articles, 
the  so-called  "Bloody  Statute,"  he  has  given  its  laws. 

He  will  not  be  Protestant,  nor  Catholic,  and  in  order  to  show  his  im- 
partiality, he  is  an  equally  terrible  persecutor  of  both  parties.  So  that 
it  has  come  to  pass  that  we  must  say  :  In  England,  Catholics  are  hanged, 
and  those  not  such,  are  burned.*  It  gives  the  King  pleasure  to  hold  with 
steady  and  cruel  hand  the  balance  between  the  two  parties,  and  on  the 
same  day  that  he  has  a  Papist  incarcerated,  because  he  has  disputed  the 
King's  supremacy,  he  has  one  of  the  Reformed  put  upon  the  rack,  be- 
cause he  has  denied  the  real  transubstantiation  of  the  wine,  or  perhaps 
has  disputed  concerning  the  necessity  of  Auricular  Confession.  Indeed, 
during  tin-  hist  session  of  Parliament,  five  men  were  hanged  because  they 
disputed  the  supremacy,  and  five  others  burned  because. they  professed 
the  reformed  views !  And  this  evening,  Jane,  this,  the  King's  wedding 
night,  by  the  special  order  of  the  King,  who  wanted  to  show  his  impar- 
tiality as  head  of  the  Church,  Catholics  and  Protestants  have  been  coupled 
together  like  dogs,  and  hurried  to  the  stake,  the  Catholics  being  con- 
demned as  traitors,  and  the  others  as  heretics. f 

Oh,  said  Jane,  shuddering  and  turning  pale,  I  will  not  be  Queen  of 
England.  1  have  a  horror  of  this  cruel,  savage  King,  whoso  heart  is 
wholly  without  compassion  or  pity  ! 

Her  father  laughed.  Do  you  not  then  know,  child,  how  you  can  make 
the  hyena  gentle,  and  the  tiger  tame  1  You  throw  them  again  and  again 
a  fresh  prey,  which  they  may  devour,  and  since  they  love  blood  so  dear- 
ly, you  constantly  give  them  blood  to  drink,  so  that  they  may  never 
thirst  for  it.  The  King's  only  steady  and  unchanging  peculiarity  is  his 
cruelty  and  delight  in  blood  ;  one  then  must  always  have  some  food 
ready  for  these,  then  he  will  ever  be  a  very  affectionate  and  gracious 
King  and  husband. 

And  there  is  no  lack  of  objects  for  this  blood-thirstiness.     There  are 

so  many  men   and    women  at  his  Court,  and  when  he  is  precisely  in  a 

blood-thirsty  humor,  it  is  all  the  same  to  Henry  whose  blood  he  drinks. 

He  has  shed  the  blood  of  his  wives  and  relatives  ;  he  has  executed  those 

•  *"■  —-—- 

*  Leti,  vol.  1,  page  142 
tTytlcr.  rw^?0. 


whom  be  called  his   most  confidential  friends ;  he  has  sent  the  noblest 
men  of  his  kingdom  to  the  scaffold. 

Thomas  More  knew  him  very  well,  and  in  a  few  striking  words  he 
summed  up  the  whole  of  the  King's  character.  Ah,  it  seems  to  me  that 
I  see  now  the  queit  and  gentle  face  of  this  wise  man,  as  I  saw  him  stand- 
ing in  yonder  window-bay,  and  near  him  the  King,  his  arms  around  the 
ne°ck  of  High-Chancellor  More,  and  listening  to  his  discourse  with  a  kind 
of  reverential  devotion.  And  when  the  King  had  gone,  I  walked  up  to 
Thomas  More  and  congratulated  him  on  the  high  and  world-renowned 
favor  in  which  he  stood  with  the  King  The  King  really  loves  you,  said  I. 
"  Yes,"  replied  he,  with  his  quiet,  sad  smile,  "yes,  the  King  truly  loves 
me !  '  But  that  would  not  for  one  moment  hinder  him  from  giving  my 
head  for  a  valuable  diamond,  a  beautiful  woman,  or  a  hand's  breadth  of 
land  in  France."*  He  was  right,  and  for  a  beautiful  woman,  the  head 
of  this  sa<*e  had  to  fall,  of  whom  the  most  Christian  Emperor  and  King, 
Charles  V  said  :  "  Had  I  been  the  master  of  such  a  servant,  of  whose 
ability  and  greatness  we  have  had  so  much  experience  for  many  years  ; 
had  [possessed  an  adviser  so  wise  and  earnest  as  Thomas  Mure  was,  I 
wouid  rather  have  lost  the  best  city  of  my  realm,  than  so  worthy  a  ser- 
vant and  counsellor."!  • 

No.  Jane  be  that  your  first  and  most  sacred  rule,  never  to  trust  the 
Kino1  and  never  reckon  on  the  duration  of  his  affection  and  the  manifes- 
tations of  his  favor.  For,  in  the  perfidy  of  his  heart,  it  often  pleases  him 
to  load  with  tokens  of  his  favor,  those  whose  destruction  he  has  already 
resolved  upon,*and  to  adorn  and  decorate  with  orders  and  jewels  to-day, 
those  whom  to-morrow  he  is  going  to  put  to  death.  It  flatters  his  self- 
complacency,  like  the  lion,  to'  play  a  little  with  the  puppy  he  is  about 
to  devour.  Thus  did  he  with  Cromwell,  for  many  years  his  counsellor 
and  friend,  who  had  committed  no  other  crime  than  that  of  having  first 
exhibited  'to  the  King  the  portrait  of  the  ugly  Anne  of  Cleves,  whom 
Holbein  had  turned  into  a  beauty.  But  the  King  took  good  care  not  to 
be  angry  with  Cromwell,  or  to  reproach  him  for  it.  Much  more,  in  re- 
co'-mition  of  his  great  services,  he  raised  him  to  the  Earldom  of  Essex, 
decorated  him  with  the  Order  of  the  Garter,  and  appointed  him  Lord 
Chamberlain,  and  then,  when  Cromwell  felt  perfectly  secure  and  proudly 
basked  in  the  sunshine  of  royal  favor,  then  all  at  once  the  King  had  him 
arrested  and  dragged  to  the  tower,  in  order  to  accuse  him  of  high  treason.^ 
And  so  Cromwell  was  executed,  because  Anne  of  Clevts  did  not  please 
the  King,  and  because  Hans  Holbein  had  flattered  her  picture. 

But  now  we  have  had  enough  of  the  past,  Jane.  Now  let  us  speak  of 
the  present  and  of  the  future,  my  daughter.  Let  us  now  first  of  all  de- 
vise the  means  to  overthrow  this  woman  who  stands  in  our  way.  When 
.she  is  once  overthrown,  it  will  not  be  very  difficult  for  us  to  put  you  in 
her  place.  For  you  are  now  here,  near  the  King.  The  great  mistake 
in  our  earlier  efforts  was,  that  we  were  not  present  and  could  work  only 

•  *Letl,  vol.  1,  page  194. 

tTytler,  page  854.       %  Tvtler,  page  428. 


b^> 


through  go-betweens  and  confidants.  The  [King  did  not  see  you,  and 
siiee  the  unlucky  affair  with  Anne  of  Cleves,  he  mistrusts  likenesses. 
I  very  well  knew  that,  for  I,  my  child,  confide  in  no  one,  not  even  in  the 
most  faithful  and  noblest  friends.  I  rely  upon  nobody  but  ourselves. 
Had  we  been  here,  you  would  now  be  Queen  of  England  instead  of 
Catharine  Parr.  But,  to  our  misfortune,  I  was  still  the  favorite  of  the 
Regent  of  Scotland,  and  as  such,  I  could  not  venture  to  approach  Henry. 
It  was  necessary  that  I  should  fall  into  disgrace  there,  in  order  to  bo 
again  sure  of  the  King's  favor  here. 

So  I  foil  into  disgrace  and  fled  with  you  hither.  Now,  then,  here  we 
are,  and  let  the  fight  begin.  And  you  have  to  day  already  tnken  an 
important  step  towards  our  end.  You  have  attrActed  the  notice  of  the 
King,  and  established  yourself  still  more  securely  in  the  favor  of  Catha- 
rine. 1  confess,  Jane,  1  am  charmed  with  your  prudent  conduct.  You 
have  this  day  won  the  hearts  of  all  parties,  and  it  was  wonderfully  shrewd 
in  you  to  come  to  the  aid  of  the  Earl  of  Surrey,  as  you  at  the  same  time 
won  to  you  the  heretical  party,  to  which  Anne  Askew  belutigs.  Oh,  it 
was  indeed,  Jane,  a  stroke  of  policy  that  you  made  For  the  Howard 
family  is  the  most  powerful  and  greatest  at  Court,  and  Henry.  Earl  of 
Surrey,  is  one  of  its  noblest  representatives.  Therefore  we  have  now 
already  a  powerful  party  at  Court,  which  has  in  view  only  the  high  and 
holy  aim  of  securing  a  victory  for  the  Holy  Church,  and  which  quietly 
and  silent!  v  works  only  for  this  :  to  again  reconcile  the  King  to  the  Pope. 
Henry  Howard,  Earl  of  Surrey,  like  his  father,  the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  is 
a  good  Catholic,  as  his  niece,  Catharine  Howard,  was  ;  onry  she,  besides 
God  and  the  Church,  was  a  little  too  fond  of  the  images  of  God — fine 
looking  men.  It  was  this  that  gave  the  victory  to  the  other  party  and 
forced  the  Catholic  to  succomb  to  the  heretical  party  at  Court.  Yes, 
for  the  moment,  Cranmer  with  Catharine  has  got  the  better  of  us,  but 
soon  Gardiner  with  Jane  Douglas  will  overcome  the  heretics,  and  send 
them  to  the  scaffold.  That  is  our  plan,  and,  God  permitting,  we  will 
carry  it  out. 

But  it  will  be  a  difficult  undertaking,  said  Lady  Jane,  with  a  sigh. 
The  Queen  is  a  pure,  transparent  soul ;  she  has  a  shrewd  head,  and  a 
clear  glance.  She  is  moreover  guileless  in  her  thoughts,  and  recoils 
with  true  maidenly  timidity  from  every  sin. 

We  must  cure  her  of  this  timidity,  and  that  is  your  task.  Jane. 
You  must  despoil  her  of  these  strict  notions  about  virtue.  With  flat- 
tering voice  you  must  ensnare  her  heart,  and  entice  it  to  .sin. 

Oh,  that  is  an  infernal  plot,  said  Lady  Jane,  turning  pale.  That,  my 
father,  would  be  a  crime,  for  that  would  be  not  only  destroying  her 
earthly  happiness,  but  also  imperilling  her  soul.  I  must  entice  her  to 
a  crime  ;  that  is  your  dishonorable  demand  ?  But  1  will  not  obey  you  ! 
It  is  true,  I  hate  her,  for  she  stands  in  the  way  of  my  ambition.  It  is 
true,  I  will  destroy  her,  for  she  wears  the  crown  which  I  wish  to  pos- 
sess ;  but  never  will  I  be  so  base  as  to  pour  into  her  very  heart  the 
poison  by  which  she  shall  fall      Let  her  seek  the  poison  for  herself;  1  will 


not  hold  back  her  hand;  I  will  not  warn  her.  Let  her  seel;  the  ways 
of  sin  herself;  1  will  not  tell  her  that  she  has  erred  ;  bat  I  will,  fVftm 
afar,  dog  her,  and  watch  each  step,  and  listen  for  every  word  and  sigh, 
und  when  she  has  committed  a  crime,  then  will  I  betray  her,  and  deliver 
her  up  to  her  jucTges.  That  is  what  1  can  and  will  do.  1  will  be  the 
demon  to  drive  her  from  paradise  in  God's  name,  but  not  the  serpent 
to  entice  her  in  the  devil's  name  to  sin. 

She  paused,  and,  panting  for  breath,  sunk  back  upon  the  cushion;" 
but  her  father's  hand  was  laid  upon  her  shoulder  with  a  convulsive 
grip,  and,  pale  with  rage  and  with  eyes  flashing  with  anger,  he  stared 
at  her. 

A  cry  of  terror  burst  from  Lady  Jane.  She,  who  never  had  seen  her 
father  but  smiling  and  full  of -kindness,  scarcely  recognized  that  counte- 
nance, distorted  with  rage.  She  could  scarcely  convince  herself  that  this 
mau,  with  eyes  darting  fire,  scowling  eyebrows  and  lips  quivering  with 
rage,  was  really  her  father. 

You  will  not!  exclaimed  he,  with  a  hollow,  threatening  voice.  You 
dare  rebel  against  the  holy  commands  of  the  Church  1  Have  you,  then, 
forgotten  what  you  promised  to  the  Holy  Fathers,  whose  pupil  you 
are?  Have  you  forgotten  that  the  brothers  and  sisters  of  the  Holy 
League  are  permitted  to  have  no  other  will  than  that  of  their  master'? 
Have  you  forgotten  the  sublime  vow  which  you  made  to  our  master, 
Ignatius  Loyoia?  Answer  me,  unfaithful  and  disobedient  daughter  of 
the  Church.  Repeat  to  me  the  oath,  which  you  took,  when  he  received 
you  into  the  Holy  Society  of  the  Disciples,  of  Jesus!  Repeat  )  our 
oath,  I  say  ! 

As  if  constrained  by  an  invisible  power,  Jane  had  arisen,  and  now 
stood,  her  hands  folded  across  her  breast,  submissive  and  trembling  be 
fore  her  father,  whose  erect,  proud  and  wrathful'  form   towered  above 
her. 

1  have  sworn,  said  she,  to  subject  my  own  thought  and  will,  my  life 
and  endeavors,  obediently  to  the  will  of  the  Holy  Father.  I  have 
sworn  to  be  a  blind  tool  in  the  hand  of  my  masters,  and  to  do  only 
what  they  command  and  enjoin.  I  have  vowed  to  serve  the  Holy 
Church,  in  which  alone  is  salvation,  in  every  way  and  with  all  the 
means  at  my  command  ;  that  I  will  despise  none  of  these  means ;  con- 
sider none  trifling,  disdain  none,  provided  it  leads  to  the  end.  For  the 
end  sanctifies  the  means,  and  nothing  is  a  sin  which  is  done  for  the  hon- 
or of  God  and  the  Church  ! 

Ad  majorem  Dei  gloriam!  said  her  father,  devoutly  folding  his  hands. 
And  know  you,  what  awaits  you,  if  you  violate  your  oath  1 

Earthly  disgrace  and  eternal  destruction  await  me.  The  curse  of  all 
my  brethren  and  sisters  awaits  me.  Eternal  damnation  and  punish- 
ment. With  thousands  of  torments-  and  tortures  of  the  rack,  will  the 
Holy  Fathers  put  me  to  death,  and  as  they  kill  my  body  and  throw  it  as 
food  to  the  bea9ts  of  prey,  they  will  curse  my  soul  and  deliver  it  over 
to  purgatory, 


And  what  awaits  you  if  you  remain  faithful  to  your  oath,  and  obey 
the  commands  given  you  ? 

Honor  and  glory  on  earth,  eternal  blessedness  in  Heaven. 

Then  you  will  be  a  queen  on  earth  and  a  queen  in  Heaven.  You 
know,  then,  the  sacred  laws  of  the  Societv,  and  jou  remember  your 
oath  ? 

1  remember  it. 

And  you  know  that  the  holy  Loyola,  before  he.  left  us,  gave  the  So- 
ciety of  Jesus,  in  England,  a  Muster  and  General,  whom  all  the  breth- 
ren and  sisters  must  serve  and  submit  to ;  to  whom  they  owe  blind 
obedience  and  service  without  questioning. 

1  know  it. 

And  you  know,  likewise,  by  what  sign  the  Associates  may  recognize 
the  General? 

By  Loyola's  ring,  which  he  wears  on  "the  forefinger  of  his  right  hand. 

Behold  here  this  ring!  said  the  Earl,  drawing  his  hand  out  of  his 
doublet. 

Lady  Jane  uttered  a  cry,  and  sank  almost  senseless  at  his  feet. 

Lord  Douglas,  smiling  graciously,  raised  her  in  his  arms.  You  see, 
Jane,  1  am  not  merely  your  father,  but  your  master  aUo.  And  you 
will  obey  me,  will  you  not? 

I  will  obey!  said  she,  almost  inaudibly,  as  she  kissed  the  hand  with 
the  fatal  ring. 

Ybu  will  be* to  Catharine  Parr,  as  you  have  expressed  it,  the  serpent, 
that  seduces  her  to  sin  ? 

I  will. 

You  will  beguile  her  into  sin  and  entice  her  to  indulge  a  love,  which 
must  lead  her  to  destruction  ? 

I  will  do  it,  my  father. 

I  will  now  tell  you  whom  she  is  to  love,  and  who  is  to  be  the  instru- 
ment of  destruction.  You  will  so  manage  the  Queen  that  she  will  love 
Heury  Howard,  Earl  of  Surrey. 

Jane  uttered  a  scream,  and  clung  to  the  back  of  a  chair  to  keep  from 
falling. 

Her  father  observed  her  with  penetrating,  angry  looks.  What  means 
this  outcry  ?     Why  does  this  choice  surprise  you  ?  asked  he. 

Lady  Jane  had  already  gained  her  self  possession.  It  surprised  me, 
said  she,  because  (he  Earl  is  betrothed. 

A  singular  smile  played  about  the  Earl's  lips.  It  is  not  the  first 
time,  said  he,  that  even  a  man  already  married  has  become  dangerous 
to  a  woman's  heart,  and  often  the  very  impossibility  of  possession  adds 
fuel  to  the  flames  of  love.  Woman's  heart  is  ever  so  full  of  selfishness 
and  contradiction. 

Lady  Jane  cast  down  her  eyes,  and  made,  no  reply.  She  felt 'that 
the  piercing  and  penetrating  look  of  her  father  was  resting  on  her  face. 
She  knew  that,  just  then,  he  was  readii:^  her  soul,  although  she  did  not 
look  at  him. 

I 


so 

Then  you  no  longer  refuse1?  a3ked  he,  at  length.  You  will  inspire 
the  young  Queen  with  love  for  the  Earl  of  Surrey. 

I  will  endeavor  to  do  it,  my  father! 

If  you  try,  with  a  real  and  energetic  determination,  to  succeed,  you 
will  prevail.  For,  as)Ou  said,  the  Queen's  heart  is  still  free;  it  is, 
then,  like  a  fruitful  soil,  which  is  only  waiting  for  some  one  to  sow  the 
seed  in  it,  to  bring  forth  flowers'  and  fruit.  Catharine  Parr  does  not. 
love  the  King;  you  will,  ihen,  teach  her  to  love  Henry  Howard. 

Yet,  my  father,  said  Lady  Jane,  with  a  sarcastic  smile,  to  bring  about 
this  result,  one  must,  before  all  things,  be  acquainted  with  a  magic 
spell,  thiough  the  might  of  which  the  Earl  will  first  glow  with  love  for 
Catharine.  For  the  Queen  has  a  proud  soul,  and  she  will  never  so  forget 
her  dignity,  as  to  love  a  man  who  is  not  inflamed  with  an  ardent  pas- 
sion for  her.  But  the  Earl  has  not  only  a  bride,  but,  as  it  is  said,  a 
mistress  also. 

Ah,  you  consider  it  then  perfectly  unworthy  of  a  woman  to  love  a 
man  who  does  not  adore  her1?  asked  the  Earl,  in  a  significant  tone.  I 
am  rejoiced  to  hear  this  from  my  daughter;  aud  thus  to  be  certain  that 
she  will  not  fall  in  lave  with  the  Earl  of  Surrey,  who  is  everywhere 
else  called  "  the  lady-killer."  And  if  you  have  informed  yourself  in 
so  surprising  a  manner  as  to  the  Earl's  private  relations,  you  have  done 
so,  without  doubt,  only  because  your  sagacious  and  subtle  head  has  al- 
ready guessed  what  commission  I  would  give  you  with  respect  to  the  Earl. 
Besides,  my  daughter,  you  are  in  error;  and  if  a  certain  high,  but  not 
on  that  account  the  less  very  unfortunate  Lady,  should  happen  to  really 
love  the  Earl  of  Surrey,  her  lot  will,  perhaps,  be  the  common  one :  to 
practice  resignation. 

An  expression  of  joyful  surprise  passed  over  the  countenance  of  Lady 
Jane,  while  her  father  thus  spoke;  but  it  was  forced  to  instantly  give 
way  to  a  deathly  paleness,  as  the  Earl  added  :  Henry  Howard  is  des- 
tined for  Catharine  Parr,  and  you  are  to  help  her  to  love  so  hotly  this 
proud,  handsome  Earl,  who  is  a  faithful  servant  of  the  Church,  wherein 
alone  is  salvation,  that  she  will  forget  all  considerations  and  all  dangers. 

Lady  Jane  ventured  one  more  objection.  She  caught  eagerly  at  her 
father's  words,  to  seek  still  for  some  way  of  escape. 

You  call  the  Earl  a  faithful  servant  of  our  Church,  said  she,  and  yet 
a  ou  would  implicate  him  also  in  your  dangerous  plot?  You  have 
not,  then,  ray  father,  considered,  that  it  is  just  as  pernicious  to  love  the 
Queen,  as  to  be  loved  by  her  ?  And,  without  doubt,  if  love  for  the 
Earl  of  Surrey  bring  the  Queen  to  the  scaffold,  the  head  of  the  Earl 
will  fall  at  the  same  time,  no  matter  whether  he  return  her  love  or  not. 

The  Earl  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

When  the  question  is  about  the  weal  of  the  Church  and  our  holy  reli- 
gion, the  danger,  which,  thereby,  it  may  be,  threatens  one  of  our  number, 
must  not  frighten  us  back.  Holy  sacrifices  must  be  always  offered  to  a 
holy  cause.  Well  and  good,  then,  let  the  Earl's  head  fall,  provided, 
the  only  saving  Church  gains  new   vigor  from  this  blood  of  martyrs. 


59 

But,  see,  Jane,  the  morning  already  begins  to  dawn,  and  I  mu3t  hasten 
to  leave  you,  lest  these  courtiers,  ever  given  to  slandering,  may  in  some 
way  or  other,  take  the  father  for  a  lover,  and  cast  suspicion  on 
the  immaculate  virtue  of  my  Jane.  Farewell,  then,  my  daughter. 
We  both,  now,  know  our  roles,  and  will  take  care  to  play  them  with 
success.  You  are  the  friend  and  confidant  of  the  Queen,  and  I  the 
harmless  courtier,  who  tries,  now  and  then,  to  gain  a  smile  from  the 
King  by  some  kind  of  merry  jest.  That  is  all.  Good  morning,  then, 
Jane,  and  good  night.  For  yon  must  sleep,  my  child,  so  that  your 
cheeks  may  remain  fresh  and  your  eyes  bright.  The  King  hates  pining 
pale-races.     Sleep,  then,  future  Queen  of  England! 

He  gently  kissed  her  forehead,  and  left  the  room  with  lingering  step. 

Lady  Jane  stood  and  listened  to  the  souud  of  his  footstep-*,  gradually 
dying  away,  when  she  sank  on  her  knees,  wholly  crushed,  utterly 
stunned. 

My  God,  my  God,  murmured  she,  while  streams  of  tears  flooded  her 
face,  and  I  am  to  inspire  the  Queen  with  love  for  the  Earl  of  Surrey, 
and  I,  I  love  him ! 


CHAPTER  IX. 

LENUEMAIN. 

The,  great  levee  was  over.  Sitting  beside  the  King  on  the  throne, 
Catharine  had  received  the  congratulations  of  her  Court;  and  the  King's 
smiling  look,  and  the  tender  words  which,  in  undertone,  he  now  and  then 
addressed  to  the  Queen,  had  manifested  to  the  prudent^  and  expert  cour- 
tiers that  the  King  was  to-day  just  as  much  enamored  of  his  young 
consort,  as  he  had  been  yesterday  of  his  bride.  Therefore,  every  one 
exerted  himself  to  please  the  Queen,  and  to  catch  every  look,  every 
smile,  which  she  let  fall,  like  sunbeams,  here  and  there,  in  order  to  see 
for  whom  they  were  intended,  so  that  they  might,  perchance,  by  this 
means,  divine  who  were  to  be  the  future  favorites  of  the  Queen,  and  be 
the  first  to  become  intimate  with  them. 

But  the  young  Queen  directed  her  looks  to  no  one  in  particular.  She 
was  friendly  and  smiling,  yet  one  felt  that  this  friendliness  was  con- 
strained, this  smile  full  of  sadness.  The  King  alone  did  not  notice  it. 
He  was  cheerful  and  happy,  and  it  seemed  to  him,  therefore,  that  no- 
body at  his  Court  could  dare  sigh,  when  he,  the  King,  was  satisfied. 

After. the  grand  presentation,  at  which  all  the  great  and  noble  of  tho 
realm  had  passed  in   formal  procession  before  the  royal  pair,  the  King 


60 

had,  according  to  the  Court  etiquette  of  the  time,  given  his  hand  to  his 
consort,  led  her  down  from  the  throne  and  conducted  her  to  the  middle 
of  the  hall,. in  order  to  present  to  her  the  personages  in  wailing  at  her 
Court. 

But,  this  walk  from  the  throne  to  the  centre  of  the  hall  had  greatly- 
fatigued  the  King;  this  promenade  of  thirty  steps  was  for  him  a  very 
unusual  and  troublesome  performance,  and  the  King  longed  to  change 
to  something  else  more  agreeable.  So  he  beckoned  to  the  Chief  Mas- 
ter of  Ceremonies,  and  bade  him  open,  the  door  leading  into  the  dining 
room.  Then  he  ordered  his  *:  house  equipage  "  to  be  brought  up,  and 
seating  himself  in  it,  with  the  utmost  stateliness,  he  had  the  sedan 
kept  at  the  Queen's  side,  waiting,  impatiently,  till  the  presentation 
should  at  last  conclude,  and  Catharine  accompany  him  to  lunch. 

The  announcements  of  the  Maids  of  Honor  and  female  attendants  had 
been  already  made,  and  now  came  the  gentlemen's  turn. 

The  Chief  Master  of  Ceremonies  ^ead  from  his  list  the  names  of  those 
cavaliers,  who  werp,  henceforth,  to  be  in  waiting  near  the  Queen,  and 
which  names  the  King  had  written  down  with  his  own  hand.  And  at 
each  new  appointment  a  slight  expression  of  pl«*nsed  astonishment  flitted 
across  the  faces  of  the  assembled  courtiers,  for  it  was  always  one  of  the 
youngest,  handsomest,  and  most  amiable  Lords  whom  the  Master  of 
Ceremonies  had  to  name. 

Perhaps  the  King  proposed  to  play  a  cruel  game  of  hazard,  in  sur- 
rounding his  consort  with  the  young  men  of  his  Court;  he  wished  to 
plunge  her  into  the  midst  of  danger,  either  to  let  her  perish  there,  or, 
by  her  avoiding  danger,  to  be  able  to  place  the  unimpeachable  virtue  of 
his  young  wife  in  the  clearest  light. 

The  list  had  begun  with  the  less  important  offices,  and,  ever  ascend- 
ing higher,  they  now  came  to  positions  the  highest  and  of  greatest  con- 
sequence. 

Still,  the  Queen's  Master  of  the  Horse  and  Chamberlain  had  no't  been 
named,  and  these  were,  without  doubt,  the  most  important  charges  at 
the  Queen's  Court.  For  one  or  the  other  of  these  officers  was  always 
very  near  the  Qfieen.  When  she  was  in  the  palace,  the  Lord  of  the 
Chamber  had  to  remain  in  the  anteroom,  and  no  one  could  approach 
the  Queen  but  through  his  mediation.  To  him  the  Queen  had  to  give 
her  orders  with  regard  to  the  schemes  and  pleasures  of  the  day.  He 
was  to  contrive  new  diversions  and  amusements.  He  had  the  right  of 
joining  the  Queen's  narrow  evening  circle,  and  to  stand  behind  the 
Queen's  chair,  when  the  royal  pair,  at  times,  desired  to  sup  without  cer- 
emony. 

This  place  of  Chief  Chamberlain  was,  therefore,  a  very  important  one, 
for  since  it  confined  him  a  large  part  of  the  day  in  the  Queen's  pres- 
ence, it  was  scarcely  avoidable,  that  the  Lord  Chamberlain  should  be- 
come either  the  confidential  and  attentive  friend,  or  the  malevolent  and 
lurking  enemy  of  the  Queen  ! 

But  the  place  of  Master  of  Horse  was  of  no  less  consequence.     For 


61 

as  soon  as  the  Queen  left  the  palace,  whether  on  foot  or  in»a  carriage ; 
whether  to  ride  in  the  forest,  or  t>  glide  down  the  Thames  in  her  gilded 
yacht,  the  Master  of  Horse  must  be  ever  at  her  side,  must  ever  attend 
her.  Indeed  this  service  was  still  more  exclusive,  still  more  important. 
For,  though  the  Queen's  apartments  were  open  to  the  Lord  Chamber- 
lain, yet,  however,  he  was  never  alone  with  her.  The  attending  Maids  of 
Honor  were  always  present  and  prevented  there  being  any  tcle-d-teles 
or  intimacy  between  the  Queen  and  her  Chamberlain. 

But  with  the  Master  of  Horse  it  was  different.  Since  many  oppor- 
tunities presented  themselves,  when  he  could  approach  the  Queen  un- 
noticed, or  at  least  speak  to  her  without  being  overheard,  lie  had  to 
offer  her  his  hand  to  assist  her  in  entering  her  carriage  ;  ht^could  ride 
near  the  door  of  her  coach  ;  he  accompanied  her  on  water  excursions  and 
pleasure  rides,  and  these  last  were  so  much  the  more  important  because 
they  afforded  him,  to  a  certain  extent,  opportunity  for  a  lHeu-tc!c  with 
the  Queen.  For  only  the  Master  of  Horse  was  permitted  to  ride  at  her 
side;  he  «ven  had  piecedence  of  the  ladies  of  the  suite,  so  as  to  be  able 
to  give  the  Queen  immediate  assistance  in  case  of  any  accident,  or  the 
stumbling  of  her  horse.  Therefore,  no  one  of  the  suite  could  perceive 
what  the  Queen  said  to  the  Master  of  Horse,  when  he  rode  at  her  side. 

It  was  understood,  therefore,  how  influential  this  place  might  be.  Ue- 
sides,  when  the  Queen  was  at  Whitehall,  the  King  was  almost  always 
near  her,  while,  thanks  to  his  daily  increasing  corpulency,  he  was  not 
exactly  in  condition  to  leave  the  palace  otherwise  than  in  a  carriage. 

It  was,  therefore,  very  natural  that  the.  whole  company  at  Court  await 
ed,  with  eager  attention  and  bated  breath,  the  moment  when  the  Master 
of  Ceremonies  would  name  these  two  important  personages,  whose 
names  had  been  kept  so  secret,  that  nobody  had  yet  learned  them! 
That  morning,  just  before  he  handed  the  list  to  the  Master  of  Ceremo- 
nies, the  King  had  written  down  these  two  names  with  his  own  hand. 

But  not  the  Court  only,  but  also  the  King  himself  was  watching  for 
these  two  names.  For  he  wished  to  see  the  effect  of  them,  and,  by  the 
differed  expression  of  faces,  estimate  the  number  of  the  friends  of  these 
two'nominees.  The  young  Queen  alone  exhibited  the  same  unconcern 
ed' affability  ;  her  heart  only  beat  with  uniform  calmness,  for  she  did  not 
once  suspect  the  importance  of  the  moment.  • 

Even  the  voice  of  the  Master  of  Ceremonies  trembled  slightly,  as  ho 
now  read  :  To  the  place  of  High  Chamberlain  to  the  Queen,  his  Majesty 
appoints:  My  Lord  Henry  Howard,"  Earl  of  Surrey  ! 

An  approving  murmur  was  heard,  and  almost  all  faces  manifested 
glad  surprise. 

He  has  a  great  many  friends,  muttered  the  King.  He  is  dangerous, 
then  !  An  angry  look  darted  from  his  eyes  upon  the  young  Karl,  who 
was  now  approaching  the  young  Queen,  to  bend  his  Knee  before  her  and 
to  press  to  his  lips  the  proffered  hand. 

Behind  the  Queen  stood  Lady  Jane,  and  as  she  beheld  thus  close  be- 
fore her,  the  young  man,  so  handsome,   -:v  lung  yearned  for,  and  so  sc- 


<}2 

cretly  adored  ;  and  as  she  thought  of  her  oath,  she  felt  a  violent  pang, 
raging  jealousy,  killing  hatred  towards  the  young  Queen,  who  had,  it  is 
true,  without  suspecting  it,  robbed  her  of  the  loved  one,  and  condemned 
her  to  the  terrible  torture  of  pandering  to  her. 

The  Chief  Master  of  Ceremonies  now  read  in  a  loud  solemn  voice: 
To  the  place  of  Master  of  Horse,  his  Majesty  appoints :  My  Lord  Thom- 
as Seymour,  Earl  of  Sudley  ! 

It  was  very  well  that  the  King  had  at  that  moment  directed  his  whole 
attention  to  his  courtiers,  and  sought  to  read  in  their  appearance  the  im- 
pression made  by  this  nomination. 

Had  he  observed  his  consort,  he  would  have  seen  that  an  expression    >£,. 
of  delighteiPsurprise  flitted  across  Catharine's  countenance,  and  a  charm- 
ing smile  played  around  her  lips. 

But  the  King,  as  we  have  said,  thought  only  of  his  Court ;  he  saw  on- 
ly that  the  number  of  those  who  rejoiced  at  Seymour's  appointment  did 
not  come  up  to  that  of  those  who  received  Surrey's  nomination  with  so 
much  applause. 

Henry  frowned  and  muttered  to  himself:  These  Howards  are  too 
powerful !     I  will  keep  a  watchful  eye  upon  them  ! 

Thomas  Seymour  approached  the  Queen,  and,  bending  his  knee  before 
her,  kissed  her  hand.  Catharine  received  him  with  a  gracious  smile. 
My  Lord,  said  she,  you  will  at  once  enter  on  service  with  me,  and  in- 
deed, as  I  hope,  in  such  manner  as  will  be  acceptable  to  the  whole  Court. 
My  Lord,  take  the  fleetest  of  your  coursers  and  hasten  to  castle  Holt, 
where  the  Princess  Elizabeth  is  staying.  Cany  her  this  letter  from  her 
royal  father,  and  she  will  follow  you  hither.  Tell  her  that  I  long  to  em- 
brace in  her  a  friend  and  sister,  and  that  I  pray  her  to  pardon  me,  if  I 
cannot  give  up  to  her  exclusively,  the  heart  of  her  King  and  father;  but 
that  I  also  must  still  keep  a  place  in  the  same  for  myself.  Hasten  to 
castle  Holt,  my  Lord,  and  bring  us  Princess  Elizabeth. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  KING'S  FOOL. 

Two  years  had  passed  away  since  the  King's  marriage,  and  still  Catha- 
rine Parr  had  always  kept  in  favor  with  her  husband  ;  still  her  enemies 
were  foiled  in  their  attempts  to  ruin  her,  and  raise  the  seventh  queen  to 
the  throne. 

Catharine  had  been  ever  cautious,  ever  discreet.  She  had  always 
preserved  a  cold  heart  and  a  cool  head.  Each  morning  she  had  said  to 
herself  that  this  day  might  be  her  last;  that  some  incautious  word,  some 


65 

■whoever  may  intercede  for  him  !  Ah,  oven  your  supplication  would 
not  have  softened  him,  for  the  high  priest  of  the  English  Church  could 
never  have  pardoned  this  young  man  for  not  being  the  legitimate  son 
of  his  father,  for  not  having  the  right  to  bear  his  name,  because  his 
mother  was  the  spouse  of  another  man  whom  Thomas  must  call  father  ! 

Poor  Heywood  !  Yes^  now  I  understand.  The  King  would,  indeed, 
never  have  forgiven  this,  and  had  he  known  It,  your  son  would  have  in>- 
evitably  been  condemned  to  the  stake. 

You  saved  him,  Queen !  Do  you  not  believe  now  that  1  shall  be  for- 
ever thankful  to  you  ? 

I  do  believe  it,  said  the  Queen,  with  a  pleasant  smile,  as  she  extended 
her  hand  for  him  to  kiss.     1  believe  you,  and  I  accept  your  service. 

And  you  will  need  it,  Queen,  for  a  tempest  is  gathering  over  your 
head,  and  soon  the  lightning  will  flash  and  the  thunders   roll. 

Oh,  I  fear  not!  I  have  strong  nerves!  said  Catharine,  smiling. 
When  a  storm  comes,  it  is  but  a  refreshing  of  nature,  and  I  have  al- 
ways seen  that  after  a  storm,  the  sun  shines  again. 

You  are  a  brave  soul !  said  John  Heywood,  sadly. 

That  is,  I  am  conscious  of  no  guilt ! 

But  your  enemies  will  invent  a  crime  to  charge  you  with.  Ah,  soon 
as  it  is  the  aim  to  calumniate  a  neighbor  and  plunge  him  in  misery, 
men  are.  all  poets  ! 

But  you  just  now  said  that  poets  are  crack-brained,  and  should  be 
huug  to  the  first  wee.  We  will,  therefore,  treat  these  slanderers  as  po- 
ets, that  is  all. 

No,  that  is  not  all !  said  John  Heywood  energetically.  For  slan- 
derers are  like  earthworms.  You  cut  them  in  pieces,  but  instead  of 
thereby  killing  them,  you  multiply  each  one  and  give  it  several  heads. 

But  what  is  it,  then,  that  I  am  accused  of?  exclaimed  Catharine,  im- 
patiently. Does  not  my  life  lie  open  and  clea/  before  you  all  ?  Do  I 
ever  take  pains  to  nave  any  secrets?  Is  not  my  heart  like  a  jjlass 
house,  into  which  you  can  all  look,  to  convince  yourselves  that  it  is  a 
soil  wholly  unfruitful,  and  that  not  a  single  poor  little  flower  grows 
there  ? 

Though  this  be  so,  your  enemies  will  sow  weeds  and  make  the  King 
believe  that  it  is  burning  love  which  has  grown  up  in  your  heart. 

How?  They  will  accuse  me  of  having  a  love  affair  !  asked  Catha- 
rine, and  her  lips  slightly  trembled. 

I  do  not  know  their  plans  yet;  but  I  will  find  them  out.  There  is  a 
conspiracy  at  work.  Therefore,  Queen,  be  on  your  guard  !  Trust  no- 
body, for  foes  are  ever  wont  to  conceal  themselves  under  hypocritical 
faces  and  deceiving  words. 

If  you  know  my  enemies,  name  them  to  me  !  said  Catharine,  impa- 
tiently.    Name  them  to  me  that  I  may  beware  of  them. 

1  have  not  come  to  accuse  anybody,  but  to  warn  you.  I  shall,  there- 
fore, take  good  care  not  to  point  out  your  enemies  to  you;  but  I  will 
namo  your  friends  to  you.  # 

ft 


GO 

Ah,  then,  I  have  friends,  too !-  whispered  Catharine,  with  a  happy 
smile. 

Yes,  you  have  friends  ;  and,  indeed,  such  as  are  ready  to  give  their 
blood  and  life  for  you. 

Oh,  name  them,  name  them,  to  me?  exclaimed  Catharine,  all  of  a 
tremble  with  joyful  expectation. 

I  name  first,, Cranmer,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury.  He  is  your  true 
and  staunch  friend,  on  whom  y^ni  can  build.  He  loves  you  as  Queen, 
and  he  prizes  you  as  the  associate  whom  God  has  sent  him  to  bring  to 
completion,  here  at  the  Court  of  this  most  Christian  and  bloody  King, 
the  holy  work  of  the  Reformation,  and  to  cause  the  light  of  knowl- 
edge to  illuminate  this  night  of  superstition  and  priestly  domination. 
Build  strongly  on  Cranmer,  for  he  is  your  surest  and  most  invariable 
supporter,  and  should  he  sink,  your  fall  would  inevitably  follow.  There- 
fore, uot  only  rely  on  him,  but  also  protect  him,  and  look  upon  him  as 
your  brother ;  for  what  you  do  for  him,  you  do  for  yourself. 

Yes.  you  are  right,  said  Catharine,  thoughtfully.  Cranmer  is  a  noble 
and  staunch  friend  ;  and  often  enough  already  he  has  protected  me,  in 
the  King's  presence,  against  those  little  pin-prickings  of  my  enemies, 
which  do  not  indeed  kill,  but  which  make  the  whole  body  sore  and 
faint. 

Protect  him,  and  thus  protect  yourself. 

Well,  and  the  other  friends'? 

I  have  given  Cranmer  the  precedence  ;  but  now,  Queen,  I  name  myself 
as  the  second  of  your  friends.  If  Cranmer  is  your  staff,  I  will  be  your 
dog  ;  and,  believe  me,  so  long  as  you  have  such  a  staff  and  so  faithful 
a  dog,  you  are  safe.  Cranmer  will  warn  you  of  every  stone  that  lies 
in  your  way,  and  T  will  bite  and  drive  off  the  enemies,  who,  hidden  be- 
hind the  thicket,  lurk  in  the  way  to  fall  upon  you  from  behind. 

I  thank  you  !  Really,  1  thank  you  !  said  Catharine,  heartily.  Well, 
and  what  more  ? 

More1?  inquired  Heywood  with  a  sad  smile. 

Mention  a  few  more  of  my  friends. 

Queen,  it  is  a  great  deal,  if  one  in  a  life  time  has  found  two  friends 
upon  whom  he  can  rely,  and  whose  fidelity  is  not  guided  by  selfishness. 
You  are,  perhaps,  the  only  crowned  head  that  can  boast  of  such  friends. 

1  am  a  woman,  said  Catharine,  thoughtfully,  and  many  women  sur- 
round me  and  daily  swear  to  me  unchanging  faithfulness  and  attach- 
ment. How  ?  are  all  these  unworthy  the  title  of  friend  ?  Is  even 
Lady  Jane  Douglas  unworthy  ;  she,  whom  I  have  called  my  friend 
these  many  long  years,  and  whom  I  trust  as  a  sister  ?  Tell  me,  John 
Heywood,  you,  who,  as  it  is  said,  know  everything,  and  search  out 
everythin^'that  takes  place  at  Court ;  tell  me,  is  not  Lady  Jane  Douglas 
my  friend  ? 

John  Heywood  suddenly  became  serious  and  gloomy,  and  looked  on 
the  ground,  absorbed  in  reflection.  Then  he  swept  his  large,  bright 
eye?  all  around  the  room,  in  a  scrutinizing  manner,  as  if  he  wished  to 


67 

convince  himself  that  no  listener  was  really  concealed  there,  and  step- 
ping close  up  to  the  Queen,  he  whispered  :  Trust  her  not ;  she  is  a 
papist,  and  Gardiner  is  her  friend. 

Ah,  1  suspected  it !  whispered  Catharine,  sadly. 

But  listen,  Queen;  give  no  expression  to  this  suspicion  by  look,  or 
words,  or  by  the  slightest  indication.  Lull  this  viper  into  the  belief 
that  you  are  harmless ;  lull  her  to  *leep,  Queen.  She  is  a  vencmous 
and  dangerous  serpent,  which  must  not  be  roused,  lest,  before  you  sus- 
pect it,  it  bite  you  on  the  heel.  Be  always  gracious,  always  confiden- 
tial, always  friendly  towards  her.  Only,  Queen,  do  not  tell  her  what 
you  would  not  confide  to  Gardiner  and  Earl  Douglas  likewise.  Oh,  be- 
lieve me,  she  is  like  the  lion  in  the  Doge's  palace  at  Venice.  The  se- 
crets that  you  confide  to  her,  will  become  accusations  against  you  before 
the  tribunal  of  blood. 

Catharine  shook  her  head  with  a  smile.  You  are  too  severe,  John 
Ileywood.  It  is  possible  that  the  religion  which  she  secretly  professes 
has  estranged  her  heart  from  me,  but  she  would  never  be  capable  of  be- 
traying me,  or  of  leaguing  herself  with  my  foes.  No,  John,  you  are 
mistaken.  It  would  be  a  crime  to  belieVe  thus.  My  God,  what  a  wicked 
and  wretched  '  world  it  must  be  in  which  we  could  not  trust  even  our" 
most  faithful  and  dearest  friends  ! 

The  world  is  indeed  wicked  and  wretched,  and  one  must  despair  of  it, 
or  consider  it  a  merry  jest,  with  which  the  devil  tickles  our  noses.  For 
me,  it  is  such  a  jest,  and  therefore,  Queen,  I  have  become  the  King's  fool, 
which  at  least  gives  me  the  right  of  spurting  out  upon  the  crawling  brood 
all  the  venom  of  the  contempt  I  feel  for  mankind,  and  of  speaking  the 
truth  to  those  who  have  only  lies,  like  dripping  honey,  ever  on  their 
lips.  The  sages  and  poets  are  the  real  fools  of  our  day,  and  since  I  did 
not  feel  a  vocation  to  be  a  king,  or  a  priest,  a  hangman,  or  a  lamb  for 
sacrifice,  I  became  a  fool. 

Yes,  a  fool ;  that  is  to  say,  an  epigrammatist,  whose  biting  tongue 
makes  the  whole  Court  tremble. 

Since  I  cannot,  like  my  royal  master,  have  these  criminals  executed, 
I  give  them  a  few  sword  cuts  with  my  tongue.  Ah,  I  tell  you,  you  will 
much  need  this  ally.  Be  on  your  guard.  Queen  ;  I  heard  this  morning 
the  first  grow]  of  the  thunder,  and  in  Lady  Jane's  eyes  I  observed  the 
stealthy  lightning.  Trust  her  not.  Trust  no  one  here  but  your  friends 
Cramner  and  John  Hrywood. 

And  you  say,  that  in  all  this  Court,  among  all  these  brilliant  women, 
these  brave  cavaliers,  the  poor  Queen  has  not  a  single  friend,  not  a  soul, 
whom  she  may  trust,  on  whom  she  may  lean?  Oh,  John  Hey  wood, 
think  again,  have  pity  on  the  poverty  of  a  queen.  Think  again.  Say, 
only  you  two  ?     No  friend  but  you  ? 

And  the  Queen's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  which  she  tiied  in  vain  to 
repress. 

John  Haywood  saw  it  and  sighed  deeply.  Detter  than  the  Queen 
herself  perhaps,  he  had  read  the  depths  of  her  heart,  and  knew  its  deep 


wound.  But  he  also  had  sympathy  with  her  pain,  and  wished  to  miti- 
gate it  a  little. 

I  recollect,  said  he,  gently  and  mournfully — yes,  I  recollect,  you  have 
yet  a  third  friend  at  this  Court. 

Ah,  a  third  friend!  exclaimed  Catharine,  and  again  her  voice  sounded 
cheery  and  joyous.  Name  him  to  me,  name  him  !  For  you  see  clearly 
I  am  burning  with  impatience  to  hear  his  name, 

John  Heywood  looked  into  Catharine's  glowing  countenance  with  a 
strange  expression,  at  once  searching  and  mournful,  and  for  a  moment 
dropped  his  heaii  upon  his  breast  and  sighed. 

Now,  John,  give  me  the  name  of  this  third  friend  ! 

Do  you  not  know  him,  Queen?  asked  Heywood,  as  he  again  stared 
steadily  in  her  face.  Do  you  not  know  him?  It  is  Thomas  Seymour, 
Earl  of  Sudley. 

There  passed  as  it  were  a  sunbeam  over  Catharine's  face,  and  she 
uttered  a  low  cry. 

John  Heywood  said,  sadly  :  Queen,  the  sun  strikes  directly  in  your 
face.  Take  care  that  it  does  not  blind  your  bright  eyes.  Stand  in  the 
.shade,  your  Majesty,  for,  hark,  there  comes  one  who  might  report  the 
sunshine  in  your  face  for  a  conflagration.  , 

Just  then  the  door  opened  and  Lady  Jane  appeared  on  the  threshold  ! 
She  threw  a  quick,  searching  glance  around  the  room,  and  an  impercep- 
tible smile  passed  over  her  beautiful  pale  face. 

Your  Majesty,  said  she  solemnly,  everything  is  ready  !  You  can 
begin  your  ride  when  it  pleases  you.  The  Princess  Elizabeth  awaits 
you  in  the  ante-room,  and  your  Master  of  Horse  already  hold  the  stir- 
rup of  your  steed. 

Aod  the  Lord  Chamberlain  ?  asked  Catharine,  blushing.  Has  he  no 
message  from  the  King  to  bring  me  ? 

Aye  !  said  the  Earl  of  Surrey  as  he  entered.  His  Majesty  bids  me 
tell  the  Queen  that  she  may  extend  her  ride  as  far  as  she  wishes.  The 
glorious  weather  is  well  worth  that  the  Queen  of  England  should  enjoy 
it,  and  enter  into  a  contest  with  the  sun. 

Oh,  the  King  is  the  most  gallant  of  cavaliers,  said  Catharine,  with  a 
happy  smile.     Now,  come,  Jane,  let  us  ride. 

Pardon  me,  your  Majesty,  said  Lady  Jaue,  stepping  back.  I  cannot, 
to-day,  enjoy  the  privilege  of  accompanying  your  Majesty.  Lady  Anne 
Ettersville  is  to  day  in  attendance. 

Another  time,  then,  Jane !  And  you,  Earl  Douglas,  you  ride  with 
us? 

The  King,  your  Majesty,  has  ordered  me  to  his  cabinet. 

Behold  now  a  Queen  abandoned  by  all  her  friends !  said  Catharine 
cheerily,  as  with  light,  elastic  step  she  passed  through  the  hall  to  the 
courtyard. 

Here  is  something  going  on  which  1  must  fathom !  muttered  John 
Heywood,  who  had  left  the  hall  with  the  rest.  A  mousetrap  is  set^for 
the  cats  remain  at  home,  and  are  hungry  for  their  prey. 


69 

Lady  Jane  had  remained  behind  in  the  hall  with  her  father.  Both 
had  stepped  to  the  window,  and  were  silently  looking  down  into  the 
yard,  where  the  brilliant  cavalcade  of  the  Queen  and  her  suite  was  mov- 
ing about  in  motley  confusion. 

Catharine  had  just  mounted  her  palfrey  ;  the  noble  animal,  recogniz- 
ing his  mistress,  neighed  loudly,  and,  giving  a  snort,  reared  up  with  his 
noble  burden.* 

Princess  Elizabeth,  who  was  close  to  the  Queen,  uttered  a  cry  of 
alarm.     You  will  fall,  Queen,  said  she;  you  ride  such  a  wild  animal. 

Oh,  no  indeed,  said  Catharine,  smiling  ;  Hector  is  not  wild.  It  is  with 
him  a9  with  me.  The  charming  May  air  has  made  us  both  mettlesome 
and  happy.  Away,  then,  my  Ladies  and  Lords ;  our  horses  must  be 
to-day  swift  as  birds.     We  ride  to  Epping  Forest. 

And  through  the  open  gateway  dashed  the  cavalcade.  The  Queen  in 
front ;  at  her  right,  the  Princess  Elizabeth ;  at  her  left,  the  Master  of 
Horse,  Thomas  Seymour,  Earl  of  Sudley. 

When  the  train  had  disappeared,  father  and  (laughter  stepped  back 
from  the  window,  and  looked  at  each  other  with  strange,  dark  and  dis- 
dainful looks. 

Well,  Jane?  said  Earl  Douglas  at  length.  She  is  still  Queen, 
and  the  King  becomes  daily  more  unwieldly  and  ailing.  It  is  time  to 
give  him  a  seventh  queen. 

Soon,  my  father,  soon. 

Loves  the  Queen  Henry  Howard  at  last? 

Yes,  he  l->ves  her !  said  Jane,  and  her  pale  face  was  now  colorless  as 
a  winding  .-aoet. 

I  ask.  whether  she  loves  him  ? 

She  will  love  him  !  murmured  Jane,  and  then  suddenly  mastering 
herself,  she  continued  :  but  it  is  not  enough  to  make  the  Queen  in  love; 
doubtless  it  would  be  still  more  efficient  if  some  one  cemld  instill  a  new 
love  into  the  King.  Did  you  see,  father,  with  what  ardent  looks  his  Ma- 
jesty yesterday  watched  me  and  the  Duchess  of  Richmond  ? 

Did  I  see  it?     The  whole  Court  talked  about  it. 

Well,  now,  my  father,  manage  it  so  that  the  King  may  be  heartily 
bored  to  day,  and  then  bring  him  to  me.  He  will  find  the  Duchess  of 
Richmond  with  me. 

Ah,  a  glorious  thought.     You  will  surely  be  Henry's  seventh  queen. 

I  will  ruin  Catharine  Parr,  for  she  is  my  rival,  and  I  hate  her !  said 
Jane,  with  glowing  cheeks  and  flashing  eyes.  She  has  been  Queen  long 
enough,  and  I  have  bowed  myself  before  her.  Now  she  shall  fall  in  the 
dust  before  me,  and  I  will  set  my  foot  upon  her  head. 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE    RIDE. 

It  was  a  wondrous  morning.  The  dew  still  lay  on  the  grass  of  the 
meadows,  over  which  they  had  just  ridden  to  reach  ihe  thicket  of  the 
forest,  in  whose  trees  resounded  the  melodious  voices  of  blithe  birds. 
Then  they  rode  along  the  banks  of  a  babbling  forest  stream,  and  spied 
the  deer  that  came  forth  into  the  glade  on  the  other  side,  as  if  they 
wanted,  like  the  Queen  and  her  train;  to  listen  to  the  song  of  the  birds 
and  the  murmuring  of  the  fountains. 

Catharine  felt  a  nameless,  blissful  pleasure  swell  her  bosom.  She 
was  to-day  no  more  the  Queen  surrounded  by  perils  and  foes;  no  more 
the  wife  of  an  unloved,  tyrannical  husband  ;  not  the  Queen  trammeled 
with  the  shackles  of  etiquette.  She  was  a  fee,  happy  woman,  who,  in 
presageful,  blissful  trepidation,  smiled  at  the  future,  and  said  to  each 
minute  :  stay,  stay,  for  thou  art  so  beautiful. 

It  was  a  sweet,  dreamy  happiness,  the  happiness  of  that  hour.  With 
glad  heart,  Catharine  would  have  given  her  crown  for  it,  could  she  have 
prolonged  this  hour  to  an  eternity. 

He  was  at.  her  side.  He  of  whom  John  Hey  wood  had  said,  that  he 
was  among  her  most  trustful  and  trusty  friends.  He  was  there  ;  and 
even  if  she  did  not  dare  to  look  at  him  often,  often  to  speak  to  him,  yet 
she  felt  his  presence,  she  perceived  the  glowing  beams  of  his  eyes,  which 
rested  on  her  with  consuming  fire.  Nobody  could  observe  them.  For 
the  Court  rode  behind  them,  and  before  them  and  around  them 
was  naught  but  nature  breathing  love  and  smiling  with  joy,  naught  but 
Heaven  and  God. 

She  had  forgotten,  however,  that  she  was  not  quite  alone,  and  that 
while  Thomas  Seymour  rode  on  her  left,  on  her  right  was  Princess 
Elizabeth, — that  young  girl  of  fourteen  years, — that  child,  who,  how- 
ever, under  the  fire  of  suffering  and  the  storms  of  adversity,  was  early 
forced  to  precocious  bloom,  and  whose  heart,  by  the  tears  and  experience 
of  her  unhappy  childhood,  had  acquired  an  early  ripeness.  Elizabeth, 
a  child  in  years,  had  already  all  the  strength  and  warmth  of  a  woman's 
feelings.  Elizabeth,  the  disowned  and  disinherited  Princess,  had  inher- 
ited her  father's  pride  and  ambition,  and  when  she  looked  on  the  Queen, 
and  perceived  that  little  crown  wrought  on  her  velvet  cap  in  diamond 
embroidery,  she  felt  in  her  bosom  a  sharp  pang,  and  remembered,  with 
feelings  of  bitter  grief,  that  this  crown  was  destined  never  to  adorn  her 
head,  since  the  King,  by  solemn  act  of  Parliament,  had  excluded  her 
from  the  succession  to  the  throne.* 

•Tvtler,  page  340, 


71 

But  for  a  few  weeks  this  pain  had  been  more  gentle,  and  loss  burning. 
Another  feeling  had  silenced  it  Elizabeth,  who  was  never  to  be  queen, 
or  sovereign — Elizabeth  might  be  a  wife  at  least.  Since >he  was  de- 
nied a  crown,  they  should  at  least  allow  her  instead  a  wife's  happiness; 
they  should  not  grudge  her  the  privilege  of  twining  in  her  hair  a  crown 
of  myrtle. 


Shyhad'beJEjh  earljr  taught*,  to  cvevJiave  a  clear  QPftscifliisnes^gfjUj 
her  feelings  ;  nor  hacNke  now  slminlf*fram   reaaing  thVatn;], ,  w^i^K 

hpn.rt-.  wirh  st.p..idv  find  snrp.  eve.  V  ^^» 


heart  with  steady  and  sure  eye. 

She  fcnew  that  she  loved,  and  that  Thomas  Seymour  was..the  man 
whom  she  loved.  •  „  ** 

But  the  Earl?  Did  he  love  her  in  rctu'fti  ?  Did  he  understand  the 
child's  heart?  Had  he,  beneath  the  childish  face,  already  recognized  the 
passionate,  proud  woman?  Had  he  guessed  the  secrets  of  ibj's  soul,  at 
once  so  maidenly  and  chaste,  and  yet  so  passionate  and  energetic  ? 

Thomas  Seymour  had  never  betrayed  a  secret,  and  \vdiat  ho  had,  it 
may  be,  read  in  the  eyes  of  the  Princess,  and  what  he  had,  perhaps, 
spoken  to  her  in  the  quiet,  shady  walks  of  Hampton  Court,  or  in  the  loner, 
dark  corridors  of  Whitehall,  was  known  to  no  one,  save  those  two.  For 
Elizabeth  had  a  strong  masculine  soul ;  she  needed  no  confidant  to  share 
her  secrets ;  and  Thomas  Seymour  had  feared  even,  like  the  immortal 
hair  dresser  of  King  Midas,  to  dig  a  hole  and  utter  his  secret  therein ;  for 
he  knew  very  well  that,  if  the  reed  grew  up  and  repeated  his  words  he 
might,  for  these  words,  lay  his  head  on  th*e  block. - 

Poor  Eb/absth  !  She  did  not  even  suspect  that  the  Earl's  secret  and 
her  own  w«re  not  however  the  same;  she  did  not  suspect  that  Thomas 
Seymour,  if  he  guessed  her  secret,  might,  perhaps,  avail  himself  of  it  to 
make  thereof  a  brilliant  foil  for  his  own  secret. 

He  had,  like  her,  ever  before  his  eyes,  the  diamond  crown  on  the  head 
of  the.  young  Queen,  and  he  had  noticed  well  how  old  and  feeble  the 
King  had  become  of  late. 

As  he  now  rode  by  the  side  of  the  two  Princesses,  he  felt  his  heart 
swell  with  a  proud  joy,  and  bold  and  ambitious  schemes  alone  occupied 
his  soul. 

The  two  women  understood  nothing  of  this.  They  were  both  too 
much  occupied  with  their  own  thoughts;  and  while  Catharine's  eyes  swept 
with  beaming  look  the  landscape  far  and  wide,  the  brow  of  the  Princess 
was  slightly  clouded,  and  her  sharp  eye  rested  with  a  fixed  and  watchful 
gaze  on  Thomas  Seymour. 

She  had  noticed  the  impassioned  look  which  he  had  now  and  then 
fastened  on  the  Queen.  The  slight,  scarcely  perceptible  tremor  of  his 
voice,  when  he  spoke,  had  not  escaped  her. 

Princess  Elizabeth  was  jealous;  she  felt  the  first  torturing  motions  of 
that  horrible  disease,  which  she  had  inherited  from  her  father,  and  in 
the  feverish  paroxisms  of  which,  the  King  had  sent  two  of  his  wives  to 
the  scaffold. 

She  was  jealous,  but  not  of  the  Queen  ;  much  more,  she  dreamed  not 


that  the  Queen  might  share  and  return  Seymour's  love.  It  never  came 
into  her  mind  to  accuse  the  Queen  of  an  understanding  with„the  Earl. 
She  was  jealous  only  of  the  looks  which  he  directed  towards  the  Queen; 
and  because  she  was  watching  those  looks,  she  could  not  at  the  same 
time  read  the  eyes  of  her  young  stepmother  also  ;  she  could  not  see  the 
gentle  flames  which  kindled  by  the  tire  of  his  looks  glowed  in  hers, 
...-Thomas  £pfcym»ur  .had  seenjiheun,  and  bad  he^now  been  alone"  with 
^C*tharine.Jie  would  have  thrown  himself  at  her' feet  and  confided  to  her 
fill  the  d#ep  and  dangerous  secrets  that  he  had  so  long  harbored  in  his 
breast; *he  would  have  left  to  her  the  choice  of  bringing  him  to  the 
blocl*for*of  accepting  the  lgve  which  he  consecrated  to  her. 

But  there,  behind  them,  were  the  spying,  all  observing,  all  surmising 
courtiers;  there  was  the  Princess  Elizabeth,  who,  had  he  ventured  to 
speak  to  die  Queen,  would  have  conjectured  from  his  manner,  the  words 
which  she  could  not  understand ;  for  love  sees  so  cfearly,  and  jealousy- 
has  such  keen*  ears. 

Catharine  suspected  nothing  of  the  thoughts  of  her  companions.  She 
alone  was  happy  ;  she  alone  gave  herself  up  with  full  soul  to  the  enjoy- 
ment of  the  moment.  She  drew  in  with  intense  delight  the  pure  air ; 
she  drank  in  the  odor  of  the  meadow  blossoms  ;  she  listened  with  thirsty 
ear  to  the  murmuring  song  which  the  wind  wafted  to  her  from  the  boughs 
of  the  trees.  Her  wishes  extended  not  beyond  the  hour;  she  rested  in 
the  full  enjoyment  of  the  presence  of  her  beloved.  He  was  there — what 
needed  she  more  to  make  her  happy  ! 

Her  wishes  extended  not  beyond  this  hour.  She  was  only  conscious 
how  deWhtful  it  was,  thus  to  be  at  her  beloved's  side,  to  breathe  the 
same  air  to  see  the  same  sun,  the  same  flowers  on  which  his  »yes  rested, 
and  on  which  their  glances  at  least  might  meet  in  kisses,  which  were 
denied  to  their  lips. 

But  as  they  thus  rode  along,  silent  and  meditative,  each  occupied  with 
his  own  thoughts,  there  came  the  assistance  for  which  Thomas  Seymour 
had  prayed,  fluttering  along  in  the  shape  of  a  fly. 

At  first  this  fly  sported  and  buzzed  about  the  nose  of  the  fiery,  proud 
beast  which  the  Queen  rode ;  and  as  no  one  noticed  it,  it  was  not  disturbed 
by  Hector's  tossing  of  his  mane,  but  crept  securely  and  quietly  to  the 
top  of  the  noble  courser's  head,  pausing  a  little  here  and  there,  and  sink- 
ing his  sting  into  the  horse's  flesh,   so  that  he  reared  and  began  loudly 

to  neigh. 

But  Catharine  was  a  bold  and  dexterous  rider,  and  the  proud  spirit  of 
her  horse  only  afforded  her  delight,  and  gave  the  Master  of  Horse  an  op- 
portunity to  praise  her  skill  and  coolness. 

Catharine  received  with  a  sweet  smile  the  encomiums  of  her  beloved. 
But  the  fly  kept  creeping  on,  and  impelled  by  a  diabolic  delight,  now 
penetrated  the  horse's  ear. 

The  poor,  tormented  animal  made  a  spring  forwards.  This  spring,  in- 
stead of  freeing  him  from  his  enemy,  made  him  penetrate  the  ear  still 
farther,  and  ^ink  his  sting  still  deeper  into  the  soft  fleshy  part  of  the  same. 


73 

Stung  by  the  maddening  pain,  the  horse  cast  off  all  control,  and,  heed- 
less of  bridle  and  scorning'  the  bit,  dashed  forwards  in  a  furious  run — 
forwards  over  the  meadow  swift  as  an  arrow,   resistless  as  the  lightning. 

On,  on,  to  the  Queen's  rescue  !  thundered  the  Master  of  Horse,  and 
with  mad  haste,  away  flew  he  also  over  the  meadow. 
££jTo  the  help  of  the  Queen  !  repeated  Princess  Elizabeth,  and  she  likewise 
spurred  her  horse  and  hurried  forwards,  accompanied  by  the  whole  suite. 

But  what  is  the  speed  of  a  horse  ever  so  swift,  but  yet  in  his  senses, 
compared  with  the  raving  madness  of  a  crazy  courser,  that,  despising  all 
subjection,  and  mocking  at  the  bridle,  dashes  ahead,  foaming  with  the 
sense  of  freedom  and  unrestraint,  uncontrollable  as  the  spurge  lashed  by 
the  storm !  „ 

Already  far  behind  them  lay  the  meadows,  far  behind  them  the  avenues 
leading  through  the  woods,  and  over  brooks  and  ditches,  over  meadows 
and  wastes,  Hector  was  dashing  on. 

The  Queen  still  sat  firmly  iu  the  saddle  ;  her  cheeks  were  colorless; 
her  lips  trembled  ;  but  her  eye  was  still  bright  and  clear.  She  had  not  yet 
lost  her  presence  of  mind  ;  she  was  perfectly-  conscious  of  her  danger. 
The  din  of  screaming,  screeching  voices,  which  she  heard  at  first,  had 
long  since  died  away  in  silence  behind  her.  An  immense  solitude,  the 
deep  silence  of  the  grave  was  around  her.  .  Naught  was  heard  save  the 
panting  and  snorting  of  the  horse  ;  naught  but  the  crash  and  clatter  of 
his  hoofs. 

Suddenly,  however,  this  sound  seemed  to  find  an  echo.  It  was  re- 
peated over  yonder.  There  was  the  same  snorting  and  panting;  there 
was  the  same  resounding  trampling  of  hoofs. 

And  now,  oh,  now,  struck  on  Catharine's  ear  the  sound  of  a  voice  only 
too  well  loved,  and  made  her  scream  aloud  with  delight  and  desire. 

But  this  cry  frightened  anew  the  enraged  animal.  For  a  moment, 
exhausted  and  panting,  he  had  slackened  in  his  mad  race  ;  now  he  sprang 
forwards  with  renewed  energy  ;  now  he  flew  on  as  if  impelled  by  the 
wings  of  the  wind. 

But  ever  nearer  and  nearer  sounded  the  loved  voice,  ever  nearer  the 
tramp  of  his  horse. 

They  were  now  upon  a  large  plain,  shut  in  on  all  sides  by  woods. 
While  the  Queen's  horse  circled  the  plain  in  a  wide  circuit,  Seymojr's 
horse,  obedient  to  the  rein,  sped  directly,  across  it,  and  was  close  behind 
the  Queen's  horse. 

Only  a  moment  more  !  Only  hold  your  arms  firmly  around  the  ani- 
mal's neck,  that  the  shock  may  wot  hurl  you  off  when  I  lay  hold  of  the 
rein  !  shouted  Seymour,  and  he  set  his  spurs  into  his  horse's  flanks,  so 
that  he  sprang  forwards  with  a  wild  cry. 

This  cry  roused  Hector  to  new  fury.  Panting  for  breath,  he  shot  for- 
ward with  fearful  leaps,  now  straight  into  the  thicket  of  tho  woods. 

1  hear  his  voice  no  more,  murmured  Catharine.  And  at  length  over- 
come with  anxiety  and  the  dizzy  race,  and  worn  out  with  her  exertions, 
she  closed  her  eyes ;  her  senses  appeared  to  be  about  leaving  her. 


71 

But  at  this  moment,  a  firm  hand  seized  with  iron  grasp  the  rein  of  her 
horse,  so  that  he  bowed  his  head,  shaking,  tramblingand  almost  ashamed, 
as  though  he  felt  he  had  found  his  lord  and  master. 

Saved  !  I  am  saved  !  faltered  Catharine,  and  breathless,  scarcely  in 
her  senses,  she  leaned  her  head  on  Seymour's  shoulder. 

He  lifted  her  gently  from  the  horse,  and  placed  her  on  the  soft  moss 
beneath  an  ancient  oak.  Then  he  tied  the  horses  to  a  bough"  and  Catha- 
rine, trembling  and  faint,  sank  on  her  knees  to  rest  after  such  violent 
exertion. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE    DECLARATION.  / 

Thomas  Seymour  returned  to  Catharine.  She  still  lay  there  with 
closed  eyes,  pale  and  motionless. 

He  gazed  on  her  long  and  steadily  ;  his  eyes  drank  in,  in  long  draughts, 
the  sight  of  this  beautiful  and  noble  woman,  and  he  forgot  at  that  mo- 
ment that  she  was  a  queen. 

•  He  was  at  length  alone  with  her.  At  last,  after  two  years  of  torture, 
of  resignation,  of  dissimulation,  God  had  granted  him  this  hour;  for  which 
he  had  so  long  yearned,  which  he  had  so  long  considered  unattainable. 
Now  it  was  there,  now  it  was  his. 

And  had  the  whole  Court,  had  King  Henry  himself,  come  right  then, 
Tdiomas  Seymour  would  not  have  heeded  itj  it  would  not  have  affrighted 
him.  The  blood  had  mounted  to  his  head  and  overcome  his  reason. 
His  heart,  still  raving  and  roaring  so  violently  from  his  furious  ride  and 
his  anxiety  for  Catharine,  allowed  him  to  hear  no  other  voice  than  that 
of  passion. 

He  knelt  by  the  Queen  and  seized  her  hand. 

Perhaps  it  was  this  touch  which  roused  her  from  her  unconsciousness. 
She  raised  her  eyes  and  gazed  around  with  a  perplexed  look. 

Where  am  1 1  breathed  she  in  a  low  tone. 

Thomas  Seymour  pressed  her  hand^to  his  lips.  You  are  with  the  most 
faithful  and  devoted  of  your  servants,  Queen! 

Queen  !  This  word  roused  her  from  her  stupor,  and  caused  her  to 
raise  herself  half  up. 

But  where  is  my  Court  ?  Where  is  the  Princess  Elizabeth  1  Where 
are  all  the  eyes  that  heretofore  watched  me1?  Where  are  all  the  listen- 
ers and  spies  who  accompany  the  Queen  ? 

They  are  far  away  from  here,  said  Seymour  in  a  tone  which  betrayed 


7'> 

his  secret  delight.  They  arc  fur  away  from  here  and  need  at  least  an 
hour's  time  to  come  up  with  us.  An  hour,  Queen  !  are  you  aware  what 
that  is  to  me?  An  hour  of  freedom,  after  two  years  of  imprisonment! 
An  hour  of  happiness,  after  two  years  of  daily  torture,  daily  endurance 
of  the  torments  of  hell ! 

Catharine,  who  had  at  first  smiled,  had  now  become  grave  and  sad. 

Her  eye  rested  on  the  cap  which  had  fallen  from  her  head  and  lay 
near  her  on  the  grass. 

She  pointed  with  trembling  finger  to  the  crown  and  said  softly  :  re- 
cognize you  that  sign,  my  Lord  1 

I  recognize  it,  my  Lady  ;  but  in  this  hour,  I  no  longer  shrjnk  back  at 
it.  There  are  moments  in  which  life  is  at  its  crowning  point,  and  when 
one  heeds  not  the  abyss  that  threatens  close  beneath.  Such  an  hour  is 
the  present.  I  am  aware  that  this  hour  makes  me  guilty  of  high-treason 
and  may  send  me  to  the  block  ;  but  nevertheless  I  will  not  be  silent. 
The  lire  which  burns  in  my  breast  consumes  m€.  I  must  at  length  give 
it  vent.  My  heart,  that  for  years  has  burned  upon  a  funeral  p>re,  and 
which  is  so  strong,  that  in  the  midst  of  its  agonies,  it  has  still  ever  felt  a 
sensation  of  blessedness.  My  heart  must  at  length  find  death  or  favor. 
You  shall  hear  me,  Queen  ! 

No,  no,  said  she  almost  in  anguish.  I  will  not,  I  cannot  hear  you  ! 
Remember  that  I  am  Henry  the  Eighth's  wife,  and  that  it  is  dangerous 
to  speak  to  her.     Silence  then,  Earl,  silence,  and  let  us  ride  on. 

She  would  have  arisen,  but  her  own  exhaustion  and  Lord  Seymour's 
hand  caused  her  to  sink  back  agaiifc 

No,  I  will  not  be  silent,  said  he.  I  will  not  be  silent  until  I  have  told 
you  all  that  rages  and  glows  within  me.  The  Queen  of  England  may 
either  condemn  me  or  pardon  me,  but  she  shall  know,  that  to  me  she  is 
not  Henry  the  Eighth's  wife,  but  only  the  most  charming  and  graceful, 
the  noblest  and  loveliest  woman  of  England.  I  will  tell  her,  that  I  never 
recollect  she  is  my  queen,  or,  if  I  do  so,  it  is  only  to  curse  the  King,  who 
was  presumptuous  enough  to  set  this  brightly  sparkling  jewel  in  his 
bloody  crown. 

Catharine,  almost  horrified,  laid  her  hand  on  Seymour's  lips.  Silence, 
unhappy  man,  silence  !  Know  you  that  it  is  your  sentence  of  death 
which  you  are  now  uttering  1  Your  sentence  of  death,  if  any  soul  hears 
you? 

But  no  one  hears  me.  No  one  save  the  Queen,  and  God,  who,  how- 
ever, is  perhaps  more  compassionate  and  merciful  than  the  Queen.  Ac- 
cuse me  then,  Queen  ;  go  and  tell  your  King  that  Thomas  Seymour  is  a 
traitor;  that  he  dares  love  the  Queen.  The  King  will  send  me  to  the 
scaffold,  but  I  shall  nevertheless  deem  myself  happy,  for  I  shall  at  least 
die  by  your  instrumentality.  Queen,  if  I  cannot  li,ve  for  you,  then  beau- 
tiful it  is  to  die  for  you  ! 

Catharine  listened  to  him  wholly  stupified,  wholly  intoxicated.  This 
was  for  her,  language  wholly  new  and  never  heard  before,  at  which  her 
heart  trembled  in  blissftd  awe,  which  rushed  around  her  in  encha. 


7G 

melodies  and  lulled  her  into  a  sweet  stupefaction.  Now  she  herself  even 
forgot  that  she  was  Queen,  (hat  she  was  the  wife  of  Henry,  the  blood- 
thirsty and  the  jealous.  She  was  conscious  only  of  this,  that  the  man 
whom  she  had  so  long  loved,  was  now  kneeling  at  her  side.  With  rap- 
ture she  drank  in  his  words,  which  struck  upon  her  ear  like  exquisite 
music. 

Thomas  Seymour  continued.  He  told  her  all  he  had  suffered.  He 
told  her  he  had  often  resolved  to  die,  in  order  to  put  an  end  to  these 
tortures,  but  that  then  a  glance  of  her  eye,  a  word  from  her  lips  had 
given  him  the  strength  to  live,  and  still  longer  endure  these  tortures, 
which  wer,e  at  the  same  time  so  full  of  rapture. 

But  now,  Queen,  now  my  strength  is  exhausted,  and  it  is  for  you  to 
give  me  life  or  death.  To-morrow  I  will  ascend  the  scaffold,  or  you 
shall  permit  me  to  live,  to  live  for  you. 

Catharine  trembled  and  looked  at  him  well  nigh  astounded.  He 
seemed  so  proud  and  operative,  she  almost  felt  a  fear  of  him,  but  it 
was  the  happy  fear  of  a  loving,  meek  woman  before  a  strong,  command- 
ing man. 

Know  you,  said  she  with  a  charming  smile,  know  you  that  you  almost 
have  the  appearance  of  wishing  to  command  me  to  love  you  ? 

No,  Queen,  said  he  proudly,  I  cannot  command  you  to  love  me,  but 
I  bid  you  tell  me  the  truth.  1  bid  you  do  this,  for  I  am  a  man,  who  has 
the  right  to  demand  the  truth  of  a  woman  face  to  face.  And  1  have  told 
you,  you  are  not  the  Queen  to  me.  You  are  but  a  beloved,  an  adored 
woman.  This  love  has  nothing  to  do  with  your  royalty,  and  while  I 
confess  it  to  you,  I  do  not  think  that  you  abase  yourself  when  you  re- 
ceive it.  For  the  true  love  of  a  man  is  ever  the  holiest  gift  that  he  can 
present  to  a  wotnau,  and  if  a  beggar  dedicates  it  to  a  queen,  she  must 
feel  herself  honored  by  it.  Oh,  Queen,  1  am  a  beggar.  1  lie  at  your 
feet  and  raise  ray  hands  beseechingly  to  you  ;  but  1  want  not  charity,  I 
want  not  your  compassion  and  pity,  which  may,  perhaps,  grant  me  an 
alms  to  lessen  my  misery.  No  1  want  you,  yourself.  I  require  all  or 
nothing.  It  will  not  satisfy  me  that  you  forgive  my  boldness,  and  draw 
the  veil  of  silence  over  my  mad  attempt.  No,  I  wish  you  to  speak,  to 
pronounce  my  condemnation,  or  a  benediction  on  me.  Oh,  I  know  you 
are  generous  and  compassionate,  and  even  if  you  despise  my  love  and 
will  not  return  it,  yet,  it  may  be,  you  will  not  betray  me.  You  will 
spare  me  and  be  silent.  But  I  repeat  it,  Queen,  I  do  not  accept  this 
offer  of  your  magnanimity.  You  are  to  make  me  either  a  criminal  or  a 
god  ;  for  I  am  a  criminal  if  you  condemn  my  love,  a  god  if  you  return  it. 

Aud  do  you  know,  Earl,  whispered  Catharine,  that  you  are  very  cruel  ? 
You  want  me  to  be  either  an  accuser  or  an  accomplice.  You  leave  me 
no  choice  but  that  of  being  either  your  murderess  or  a  perjured  and  adul- 
terous woman— a  wife  who  forgets  her  plighted  faith  and  her  sacred 
duty,  and  defiles  the  crown,  which  my  husband  has  placed  upon  my 
head,  with  stains,  which  Henry  will  wash  out  with  my  own  blood  aud 
with  yours  also. 


Let  it  be  so  then,  cried  the  Ear],  almost  joyfully.  Let  my  head  fall 
no  matter  how  or  when,  if  you  but  love  me ;  for  then  I  shall  still  be  im- 
mortal ;  for  a  moment  in  your  arms  is  an  eternity  of  bliss. 

But  I  have  already  told  you  that  not  only  your  head,  but  mine  also,  is 
concerned  in  this  matter.  You  know  the  King's  harsh  and  cruel  disposi- 
tion. The  mere  suspicion  is  enough  to  condemn  me.  Ah,  if  he  knew 
what  we  have  just  now  spoken  here,  he  would  condemn  me,  as  he  con-' 
demned  Catharine  Howard,  though  I  am  not  guilty  as  she  was.  Ah,  I 
shudder  at  the  thought  of  the  block  ;  and  you,  Earl  Seymour,  you  would 
bring  me  to  the  scaftbld,  and  yet  you  say  you  love  me'? 

Seymour  sunk  his  head  mournfully  upon  his  breast  and  sighed  deeply. 
You  have  pronounced  my  sentence,  Queen,  and  though  you  are  too  noble 
to  tell  me  the  truth,  yet  1  have  guessed  it.  No,  you  do  not  love  me, 
for  you  sec  with  keen  eyes  the  danger  that  threatens  you.  and  you  fear 
tor  yourself.  No,  you  love  me  not,  else  you  would  think  of  nothing 
save  love  alone.  The  dangers  would  animate  you,  and  the  swojd  which 
hangs  over  your  head,  you  would  not  see,  or  you  would  with  rapture 
grasp  its  edge,  and  say  :  "what  is  death  to  me,  since  I  am  happy  !  What 
care  1  for  dying,  since  I  have  felt  immortal  happiness  !:'  Ah,  Catharine, 
you  have  a  cold  heart  and  a  cool  head.  May  God  preserve  them  both 
to  you ;  then  will  you  pass  through  life  quietly  and  safely  ;  but  you  will 
yet  be  a  poor  wretched  woman,  and  when  you  come  to  die,  they  will 
place  a  royal  crown  upon  your  coffin,  but  love  will  not  weep  for  you. 
Farewell,  Catharine,  Queen  of  England,  and  since  you  cannot  love  him, 
give  Thomas  Seymour,  the  traitor,  your*  sympathy  at  least ! 

He  bowed  low  and  kissed  her  feet,  then  he  arose  and  walked  with  firm 
step  to  the  tree  where  he  had  tied  the  horses. 

But  now  Catharine  arose,  now  she  flew  to  him,  and  grasping  his  hand, 
asked,  trembling  and  breathless  :  what  are  you  about  to  do  ]  Whither 
are  you  going  ? 

To  the  King,  my  Lady  ! 

And  what  will  you  do  there  ? 

I  will  show  him  a  traitor  who  has  dared  love  the  Queen.  You  have 
just  killed  my  heart;  he  will  kill  only  my  body.  That  is  less  painful, 
and  I  will  thank  him  for  it. 

Catharine  uttered  a  cry,  and  with  passionate  vehemence  drew  him 
back  to  the  place  where  she  had  been  resting. 

If  you  do  whet  you  say,  you  will  kill  me,  said  she  with  trembling  lips. 
Hear  me,  hear !  The  moment  you  mount  your  horse  to  go  to  the  King, 
I  mount  mine  too ;  but  not  to  follow  you,  not  to  return  to  Loudon,  but 
to  plunge  with  my  horse  down  yonder  precipice.  Oh,  fear  nothing  ; 
they  will  not  accuse  you  of  my  murder.  They  will  say  that  1  plunged 
down  there  with  my  horse,  and  that  the  raging  animal  caused  my  death. 

Queen,  take  good  heed,  consider  well  what  you  say  !  exclaimed  Thomas 
Seymour,  his  countenance  clearing  up  and  hjs  face  beaming  with  delight. 
Bear  in  mind  that  your  words  must  be  either  a  condemnation,  or  an 
avowal.    1  wish  death,  or  your  love  !     Not  the  love  of  a  Queen,  who 


to 

thinks  to  be  gracious  to  her  subject,  when  for  the  moment  she  elevates 
him  to  herself;  but  the  love  of  a  woman  who  bows  her  head  in  meekness 
and  receives  her  lover  as  at  the  same  time  her  lord.  Oh,  Catharine,  be 
well  on  your  guard  !  If  you  come  to  me  with  the  pride  of  a  Queen,  if 
there  be  even  one  thought  in  you  which  tells  you  that  you  are  bestow 
ing'a  favor  on  a  subject  as  you  take  him  to  your  heart,  then  be  silent 
and  let  me  go  hence.  I  am  proud,  and  as  noble  bora  as  yourself,  and 
however  love  throws  me  conquered  at  your  feet,  yet  it  shall  not  bow  my 
head  in  the  dust!  But  if  you  say  that  you  love  me.  Catharine,  for  that 
I  will  consecrate  my  whole  life  to  you.  I  will  be  your. lord,  but  your 
slave  also.  There  shall  be  in  me  no  thought,  no  feeling,  no  wish,  that 
is  not  devoted  and  subservient  to  you.  And  when  I  say  that  I  will  be 
your  lord,  I  mean  not  thereby  that  1  will  not  lie  forever  at  your  feet 
and  bow  my  head  in  the  dust,  and  say  to  you  :  tread  on  it,  if  it  seem 
good  to  you,  for  I  am  your  slave  ! 

And, speaking  thus,  he  dropped  on  his  knees  and  pressed  to  her  feet, 
his  face,  whose  glowing  and  noble  expression  ravished  Catharine's  heart. 

She  bent  down  to  him,   and  gently    lifting  his  head,   looked  with  an 
indescribable  expression  of  happiness  and  love  deep  into  his 'beaming, 
eyes. 

Do  you  love  me  1  asked  Seymour  as  he  put  his  arm  softly  around 
her  slender  waist,  and  arose  from  his  kneeling  attitude. 

I  love  you  !  said  she  with  a  firm  voice  and  a  happy  smile.  I  love 
you,  not  as  a  queen,  but  as  a  woman  ;  and  if  perchance  this  love  bring 
us  both  to  the  scaffold,  well  then,  we  shall  at  least  die  together,  to  meet 
again  there  above! 

No,  think  not  now  of  dying,  Catharine,  think  of  living,  of  the  beauti- 
ful, enchanting  future,  which  is  beckoning  to  us.  Think  of  the  days 
which  will  soon  come,  and  in  which  our  love  will  no  longer  require  se- 
crecy or  a  veil,  but  when  we  will  manifest  it  to  the  whole  worjd,  and 
can  proclaim  our  happiness  from  a  full  glad  breast !  Oh,  Catharine,  let 
us  hope  that  compassionate  aud  merciful  death  will  loose  at  last  the 
unuatural  bonds  that  bind  you  to  that  old  man.  Then,  when  Henry  is 
no  more,  then  will  you  be  mine,  mine  with  your  entire  beir,g,  with  your 
whole  life ;  and  instead  of  a  proud  regal  crown,  a  crown  of  myrtle  shall 
adorn  your  head  !  Swear  that  to  me,  Catharine;  swear,  that  you  will 
become  my  wife,  as  soon  as  death  has  set  you  free. 

The  Queen  shuddered,  and  her  cheeks  grew  pah.  Oh,  said  she  with 
a  sigh,  death  then  is  our  hope  and  perhaps  the  scaffold  our  end  ? 

No,  Catharine,  love  is  our  hope  and  happiness  our  end.  Think  of  life, 
of  our  future !  Grant  my  request.  Swear  to  me,  here,  in  the  face  of 
God,  and  of  sacred  and  calm  nature  around  us,  swear  to  me,  that  from 
the  day  when  death  frees  you  from  your  husband  you  will  be  mine,  my 
wife,  my  consort!  Swear  to  me,  that  you  regardless  of  etiquette  and 
unmindful  of  tyrannical  custom  will  be  Lord  Seymour's  wife,  before  the 
knell  for  Henry's  death  has  5ied  away.  We  will  find  a  priest,  who  may 
bless  our  love  and  sanctify  the  covenant  that  we  have  this  day  conclud- 


79 

ed  for  eternity !  Swear  tome,  that  till  that  wished-for  day,  von  will 
keep  for  me  your  truth  and  love,  and  never  forget  that  my  honor  is 
\ouis  also,  that  your  happiness  is  also  mine  ! 

I  swear  it !  said  Catharine  solemnly.  You  may  depend  upon  rwe  at 
all  times,  and  at  all  hours.  Never  will  I  be  untrue  to  you  ;  never  will  I 
have  a  thought  that,  is  not  yours.  1  will  love  you  as  Thomas  Seymour 
deserves  to  be  loved,  that  is  with  a  devoted  and  faithful  heart.  It  will 
be  my  pride  to  subject  myself  to  you,  and  with  glad  soul  will  1  serve 
and  follow  you,  as  jour  true  and  obedient  wife. 

1  accept  your  oat^i !  said  Seymour  solemnly.  But  in  return  I  swear, 
that  1  will  honor  and  esteem  you,  as  my  Queen  and  mistress.  I  swear 
to  you,  that  you  shall  never  find  a  more  obedient  subject,  a  more  unself- 
ish counsellor,  a  more  faithful  husband,  a  braver  champion,  than  1  will 
be.  My  life  for  my  Queen,  my  entire  heart  for  my  beloved  ;  this  hence- 
forth shall  be  my  "motto,  and 'may  I  be  disowned  and  despised  by  God 
and  by  you,  if  ever  I  violate  this  oath. 

Amen  !  said  Catharine  with  a  bewitching  smile. 

Then  both  were  silent.  It  was  that  silence,  which  only  love  and  hap 
piness  knows — that  silence  which  is  so  rich  in  thoughts  and  feelings,  and 
therefore  so  poor  in  words  ! 

The  wind  rustled  whisperingly  in  the  trees,  among  whose  dark  branch- 
er  here  and  there  a  bird's  warbling,  or  flute  lil<e  notes  resounded.  The 
sun  threw  his  emerald  light  over  the  soft  velvety  moss  carpet  of  the 
ground,  which  rising  and  falling  in  gentle  undulating  lines,  formed  lovely 
little  hollows  and  hillocks,  on  which  now  and  then  was  seen  here  and  there 
the  slender  and  stately  figure  of  a  hart,  or  a  roe,  that  looking  around 
searchingly  with  his  bright  eyes,  started  back  frightened  into  the  thicket 
on  observing  these  two  human  figures  and  the  group  of  horses  encamp- 
ed there. 

Suddenly  this  quiet  was  interrupted  by  the  loud  sound  of  the  hunter's 
horn,  and  in  the  distance  were  heard  confused  cries  and  shouts  which 
were  echoed  by  the  dense  forest  and  repeated  in  a  thousand  tones. 

With  a  sigh  the  Queen  raised  her  head  from  the  Karl's  shoulder. 

The  dream  was  at  an  end  ;  the  angpl  came  with  flaming  sword  to  drive 
her  from  paradise. 

For  she  was  no  linger  worthy  of  paradise.  The  fatal  word  had  been 
spoken,  and  while  it  brought  her  love,  it  had  perjured  her. 

Henry's  wife,  his  by  her  vow  taken  before  the  altar,  had  betrothed 
herself  to  another  and  given  him  the  love  that  she  owed  her  husband. 

Ft  is  past,  said  she  mournfully.  These  sounds  call  me  back  to  my 
slavery.  We  must  both  resume  our  roles.  I  must  become  Queen 
again. 

But  first  swear  to  me,  that  you  will  never  forget  this  hour ;  that  you 
will  ever  think  upon  the  oaths  which  wc  have  mutually  sworn. 

She  looked  at  him  almost  astounded.  My  God,  can  truth  and  love  be 
forgotten? 

You  will  remain  ever  true,  Catharine  ? 


81) 

She  smiled.  See  now,  my  jealous  Lord,  do  I  address  such  ques- 
tions to  you  1 

Oh,  Queen,  you  well  know  that  you  possess  the  charm  that  binds  for- 
ever. 

Who  knows !  said  she  dreamily,  as  she  raised  her  enthusiastic  look 
to  heaven,  and  seemed  to  follow  the  bright  silvery  clouds  which  were 
sailing  slowly  across  the  blue  ether. 

Then  her  eyes  fell  upon  her  beloved,  and  laying  her  hand  softly  upon 
his_  shoulder,  she  said  :  Love  is  like  God — eternal,  primeval  and  ever 
present!  But  you  must  believe  in  it  to  feel  its  presence ;  you  must 
trust  it  to  be  worthy  of  its  blessing ! 

But  the  hallooing  and  the  clangor  of  the  horns  came  nearer  and 
nearer.  Even  now  was  heard  the  barking  of  the  dogs  and  the  tramp  of 
horses. 

The  Earl  had  untied  the  horses,  and  led  Hector,  who  was  now  quiet 
and  gentle  as  a  Jamb,  to  his  mistress. 

Queen,  said  Thomas  Seymour,  two  delinquents  now  approach  you  ! 
Hector  is  my  accomplice,  and  had  it  not  been  that  the  fly  1  now  see  on 
his  swollen  ear  had  made  him  raving,  I  should  be  the  most  pitiable  and 
unhappy  man  in  your  Kingdom,  while  now  I  am  the  happiest  and  mosG 
enviable. 

The  Queen  made  no  answer,  but  she  put  both  her  arms  around  the 
animal's  neck  and  kissed  him. 

Henceforth,  said  she,  then  I  will  ride  only  Hector,  and  when  he  is 
old  and  unfit  for  service 

He  shall  be  tended  and  cared  for  in  the  stud  of  Countess  Catharine 
Seymour  !  interrupted  Thomas  Seymour,  as  he  held  the  Queen's  stir- 
rup and  assisted  her  into  the  saddle. 

The  two  rode  in  silence  towards  the  sound  of  the  voices  and  horns, 
both  too  much  occupied  by  their  own  thoughts  to  interrupt  them  by 
trifling  words. 

He  loves  me!  thought  Catharine.  I  am  a  happy,  enviable  woman, 
for  Thomas  Seymour  loves  me. 

She  loves  me  !  thought  he,  with  a  proud,  triumphant  smile.  I  shall, 
therefore,  one  day  become  Regent  of  England. 

Just  then  they  came  out  on  the  large  level  meadow,  through  which 
they  had  previously  ridden,  and  over  which  now  came,  scattered  here 
and  there  ,in  motley  confusion,  the  entire  royal  suite,  Princess  Eliza- 
beth at  the  head. 

One  thing  more  !  whispered  Catharine.  If  you  ever  need  a  messen- 
ger to  me,  apply  to  John  Heywood.  He  is  a  friend  whom  we  can 
trust. 

And  she  sprang  forward  to  meet  the  Princess,  to  recount  to  her  all 
the  particulars  of  her  adventure,  and  her  happy  rescue  by  the  Master 
of  Horse. 

Elizabeth,  however,  listened  to  her  with  glowing  looks  and  thoughts 
distracted,  and  as  the  Queen  then  turned  to  the  rest  of  her  suite,  and 


81 

surrounded  by  her  ladies   and  lords,  received  their  congratulations,  a 
slight  sign  from  the  Princess  called  Thomas  Seymour  to  her  side. 

She  allowed  her  horse  to  curvet  some  paces  forwards,  by  which  she 
and  the  Earl  found  themselves  separated  a  little  from  the  rest,  and  were 
sure  of  being  overheard  by  no  one. 

My  Lord,  said  she  in  a  vehement,  almost  threatening  voice,  you  have 
often  and  in  vain  besought  me  to  grant  you  an  interview.  I  have  de- 
nied you.  You  intimated  that  you  had  many  things  to  say  to  me,  for 
which  we  must  be  alone,  and  which  must  reach  no  listener's  ear.  Well, 
now,  to-day  I  grant  you  an  interview,  and  I  am  at  last  inclined  to  lis- 
ten to  you ! 

She  paused  and  waited  for  a  reply.  But  the  Earl  remained  silent. 
He  only  made  a  deep  and  respectful  bow,  bending  to  the  very  neck  of 
his  horse.  Well  and  good  ;  I  will  go  to  this  rendezvous  were  it  but  to 
blind  Elizabeth's  eyes,  that  .she  may  not  see  what  she  never  ought  to 
see.     That  was  all. 

The  young  Princess  cast  on  him  an  angry  look,  and  a  dark  scowl 
gathered  on  her  brow.     You  understand  well  how  to  control  your  joy, 

said  she ;  and  any  one  to  see  you  just  now  would  think 

That  Thomas  Seymour  is  discreet  enough  not  to  let  even  his 
rapture  be  read  in  his  countenance  at  this  dangerous  Court,  interrupted 
the  Earl  in  a  low  murmur.  When,  Princess,  may  I  see  you,  and 
where  1 

Wait  for  the  message  that  John  Hey  wood  will  bring  you  to-day, 
whispered  Elizabeth,  as  she  sprang  forwards  and  again  diew  near  the 
Queen. 

John  Heywood,  again  !  muttered  the  Earl.  The  confidant  of  both, 
and  so,  my  hangman,  if  he  wishes  to  be ! 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

"  LE  KOI  s'ENNUIT. 


i> 


King  Henry  was  alone  in  his  study.  He  had  spent  a  few  hours  in 
■writing  on  a  devout  and  edifying  book,  which  he  was  preparing  for  his 
subjects,  and  which,  in  virtue  of  his  dignity  as  supreme  Lord  of  the 
Church,  he  designed  to  commend  to  their  reading  instead  of  tho  Bible. 

He  now  laid  down  his  pen,  and,  with  infinite  complacency,  looked 
over  the  written  sheets,  which  were  to  be  to  his  people  a  new  proof  of 
his  paternal  love  and  care,  and  so  convince  them  that  FT<-nry  the  Eighth 
was  not  only  the  noblest  and  most  virtuous  of  Kings,  but  also  the 
wisest. 


82 

Bat  this  reflection  failed  to  make  the  King  more  cheerful  to-day  ;  per- 
haps, because  he  had  already  indulged  in  it  too  frequently.  To  be  alone, 
annoyed  and  disturbed  him.  There  were  in  his  breast  so  many  secret 
and  hidden  voices,  whose  whispers  he  dreaded,  and  which,  therefore,  he 
sought  to  drown.  There  were  so  many  recollections  of  blood,  which 
ever  and  again  rose  before  him,  however  oftfcn  he  tried  to  wash  them 
out  in  fresh  blood,  and  which  the  King  was  afraid  of,  though  he  assumed 
the  appearance  of  never  repenting,  never  feeling  disquietude. 

With  hasty  hand  he  touched  the  gold  bell  standing  by  him,  and  his 
face  brightened  as  he  saw  the  door  open  immediately  and  Earl  Doug- 
las make  his  appearance  on  the  threshold. 

Oh,  at  length  !  said  the  Lord,  who  had  very  well  understood  the  ex- 
pression of  Henry's  features ;  at  length  the  King  condescends  to  be 
gracious  to  his  people. 

I  gracious1?  asked  the  King,  utterly  astonished.     Well,  how  am  I  so? 

By  your  Majesty's  restihg  at  length  from  his  exertions  and  giving  a 
little  thought  to  his  valuable  and  needful  health.  When  you  remember, 
Sire,  that  England's  weal  depends  solely  and  alone  on  the  weal  of  her 
Kin«,  and  that  you  must  be  and  remain  healthy,  that  your  people  like- 
wise may  be  healthy. 

The  King  smiled  with  satisfaction.  It  never  came  into  his  head  to 
doubt  the  Earl's  words.  It  seemed  to  him  perfectly  natural  that  the 
weal  of  his  people  depended  on  his  person ;  but  yet  it  was  always  a 
lofty  and  beautiful  song,  and  he  loved  to  have  his  courtiers  repeat  it. 

The  King,  as  we  have  said,  smiled,  but  there  was  something  unusual 
in  that  smile,  which  did  not  escape  the  Earl. 

He  is  in  the  condition  of  a  hungry  anaconda,  said  Earl  Douglas  to 
himself.  He  is  on  the  watch  for  prey,  and  he  will  be  bright  and  lively 
again  just  as  soon  as  he  has  tasted  a  little  human  flesh  and  blood.  Ah, 
luckily  we  are  well  supplied  in  that  way.  Therefore,  we  will  render 
unto  the  King  what  is  the  King's.  But  we  must  be  cautious  and  go 
to  work  warily. 

He  approached  the  King  and  imprinted  a  kiss  on  his  hand. 

I  kiss  this  hand,  said  he,  which  has  been  to  day  the  fountain  through 
which  the  wisdom  of  the  head  has  been  poured  forth  on  this  blessed 
paper.  I  kiss  this  paper,  which  will  announce  and  explain  to  happy 
England  God's  pure  and  unadulterated  word;  but  yet  I  say  let  this 
suffice  for  the  present,  my  King  ;  take  rest ;  remember  awhile,  that  you 
are  not  only  a  sage,  but  also  a  man. 

Yes,  and  truly  a  weak  and  decrepit  one !  sighed  the  King,  as  with 
difficulty  he  essayed  to  rise,  and  in  so  doing  leaned  so  heavily  on  the 
Earl's  arm  that  he  almost  broke  down  under  the  monstrous  load. 

Decrepit !  said  Earl  Douglas,  reproachfully.  Your  Majesty  moves 
to-day  with  as  much  ease  and  freedom  as  a  youth,  and  my  arm  was  by 
no  means  needed  to  h«lp  you  up. 

Nevertheless,  we  aie  growing  old  !  said  the  King,  who,  from  his  wear- 
iness, was  unusually  sentimental  and  low  spirited  to-day. 


83 

Old  !  repeated  Earl  Douglas.  Old,  with  those  eyes  darting  fire,  that 
lofty  brow,  and  that  face  in  every  feature  so  noble.  No,  your  Majesty. 
Kings  have  this  in  common  with  the  Gods — they  never  grow  old. 

And  therein  they  resemble  parrots  to  a  hair  !  said  John  Hey  wood, 
who  just  then  entered  the  room.  I  own  a  parrot  which  my  greatgrand- 
father inherited  from  his  great  grandfather,  who  was  hair-dresser  to 
Henry  the  Fourth,  and  which  today  still  sings  with  the  same  vollubil- 
ity  as  he  did  a  hundred  years  ago  :  "  Long  live  the  King,  long  live  this 
paragon  of  virtue,  sweetness,  beauty  and  mercy.  Long  live  the  King  !" 
He  has  cried  this  for  hundreds  of  years,  and  he  has  repeated  it  for 
Henry  the  Fifth  and  Henry  the  Sixth,  for  Henry  the  Seventh  and 
Henry  the  Eighth  !  And  wonderful,  the  kings  have  changed,  but  the 
song  of  praise  has  always  been  appropriate,  and  has  ever  been  only  the 
simple  truth.  Just  like  yours,  my  Lord  Douglas!  Your  Majesty  may 
depend  upon  it,  he  speaks  the  tru'h,  for  he  is  near  akin  to  my  parrot, 
which  always  calls  him  "  My  Cousin,"  and  has  taught  him  his  immor- 
tal song  of  praise  to  kings. 

The  King  laughed,  while  Earl  Douglas  cast  at  John  Hey  wood  asharp, 
spiteful  look. 

He  is  an  impudent  imp,  is  he  not,  Douglas?  said  the  King. 

He  is  a  fool  !  replied  Ire  with  a  shrug. 

Exactly,  and  therefore  I  just  now  told  you  the  truth.  For  you 
know  children  and  fools  speak  the  truth.  And  I  became  a  fool  just  on 
this  account,  that  the  King,  whom  you  all  deceive  by  your  lies,  may 
have  about  him  some  creature,  besides  his  looking  glass,  to  tell  him  the 
truth. 

Well,  and  what  truth  will  you  serve  up  for  me  to  day  ? 

It  is  already  served,  your  Majesty  !  So  lay  aside  for  a  little  your 
regal  crown  and  your  high  priesthood,  and  conclude  to  be  for  awhile  a 
carniverous  beast.  It  is  very  easy  to  become  a  King.  For  that,  no- 
thing more  is  necessary  than  to  be  born  of  a  queen  under  a  canopy. 
But  it  is  very  difficult  to  be  a  man  who  has  a  good  digestion.  It  re- 
quires a  healthy  stomach  and  a  light  conscience.  Come,  King  Flenry, 
and  let  us  see  whether  you  are  not  merely  a  King,  but  also  a  man  that 
has  a  i>ood  stomach. 

And  with  a  merry  laugh  he  took  the  King's  other  arm  and  led  him 
with  the  Earl  into  the  dining-room. 

The  King,  who  was  an  extraordinary  eater,  silently  beckoned  his  suite 
to  take  their  places  at  the  table,  after  he  had  seated  himself  in  his  gilded 
chai  r. 

With  grave  and  solemn  air  he  then  received  from  the  hands  of  the 
Master  of  Ceremonies  the  ivory  tablet  on  which  was  the  bill  of  fare  for 
the  day.  The  King's  dinner  was  a  solemn  and  important  affair.  A 
multitude  of  post-wagons  and  couriers  were  ever  on  the  way  to  bring 
from  the  remotest  ends  of  the  earth  dainties  for  the  royal  table.  The 
bill  of  fare,  therefore,  to  day,  as  ever,  exhibited  the  choicest  and  rarest 
dishes,  and  always  when  the  King  found  one  of  his  favorite  ones  writ- 


84 

ten  down,  he  made  an  assenting  and  approving  motion  of  the  head, 
which  always  lighted  up  the  face  of  the  Master  of  Ceremonies  like  a 
sunbeam.  There  were  birds'  nests  brought  from  the  East  Indies  by  a 
fast  sailing  vessel,  built  specially  for  the  purpose.  There  were  hens 
from  Calcutta,  and  truflles  from  Languedoc,  which  the  poet-King  Francis 
the  First  of  France  had  the  day  before  sent  to  his  royal  brother  as  a 
special  token  of  affection.  There  was  the  sparkling  wine  of  Cham- 
pagne and  the  fiery  wine  of  the  Island  of  Cyprus,  which  the  Republic 
of 'Venice  had  sent  to  the  King  as  a  mark  of  respect.  There  were  the 
heavy  wines  of  the  Rhine,  which  looked  like  liquid  gold,  and  diffused  the 
fragrance  of  a  whole  bouquet  of  flowers,  and  with  which  the  Protestant 
Princes  of  Northern  Germany  hoped  to  fuddle  the  King,  whom  they 
would  have  gladly  placed  at  the  head  of  their  league.  There,  too,  were 
the  monstrous,  gigantic  partridge  pasties,  which  the  Duke  of  Burgundy 
had  sent  and  the  glorious  fruits  of  the  south  from  the  Spanish  coast, 
with  which  the  Emperor  Charles  the  Fifth  supplied  the  King  of  Eng- 
land's table.  For  it  was  well  known,  that  in  order  to  make  the  King 
of  England  propitious,  it  was  necessary  first  to  satiate  him ;  that  his 
palate  must  first  be  tickled  in  order  to  gain  his  head  or  his  heart. 

But  today  all  these  things  seemed  insufficient  to  give  the  King  the 
blissful  pleasure,  which  at  other  times  was  wont  to  be  with  him,  when 
he  sat  at  table.  He  heard  John  Hey  wood's  jests  and  biting  epigrams 
with  a  melancholy  smile  and  a  cloud  was  on  his  brow. 

To  be  in  cheerful  humor,  the  King  absolutely  needed  the  presence  of 
ladies.  He  needed  them  'as  the  Hunter  needs  the  roe  to  enjoy  the 
pleasure  of  the  chase — that  pleasure  which  consists  in  killing  the  de- 
fenceless, and  in  declaring  war  against  the  innocent  and  peaceful. 

The  crafty  courtier,  Earl  Douglas,  readily  divined  Henry's  dissatis- 
faction, and  understood  the  secret  meaning  of  his  frowns  and  sighs.  He 
hoped  much  from  them,  and  was  firmly  resolved  to  draw  some  advantage 
therefrom  to  the  benefit  of  his  daughter,  and  the  harm  of  the  Queen. 

Your  Majesty,  said  he,  I  am  just  on  the  point  of  turning  traitor,  and 
accusing  my  King  of  an  injustice. 

The  King  turned  his  flashing  eyes  upon  him,  and  put  his  hand,  spark- 
lintr  with  jeweled  rings,  to  the  golden  goblet  filled  with  Rhenish  wine. 

Of  an  injustice — me — your  King?  asked  he  with  stammering  tongue. 

Yes,  of  an  injustice,  inasmuch  as  you  are  for  me  God's  visible  repre- 
sentative on  earth.  1  would  blame  God  if  he  withdrew  from  us  for  a  day 
the  brightness  of  the  sun,  the  gorgeousness  and  perfume  of  his  flowers, 
for  since  we  children  of  men  are  accustomed  to 'enjoy  these  glories,  we 
have  in  a  certain  measure  gained  a  right  to  them.  So  I  accuse  you  be- 
cause you  have  withdrawn  from  us  the  embodied  flowers  and  the  incar- 
nate suns  •  because  you  have  been  so  cruel,  Sire,  as  to  send  the  Queen  to 
Epping  Forest. 

Not  so,  the  Queen  wanted  to  ride,  said  Henry  peevishly.  The  spring 
weather  attracted  her,  and  since  1,  alas,  do  not  possess  God's  exalted 
attribute  of  ubiquity,  I  was  no  doubt  obliged  to  come  to  the  resolution 


85 

of  being  deprived  of  her  presence.  There  is  no  horse  capable  of  carry- 
ing the  King  of  England. 

There  is  Pegasus,  however,  and  in  masfcrly'.manner  you  know  how  to 
manage  him.  But  how,  your  Majesty  ?  the  Queen  wanted  to  ride,  though 
she  was  deprived  of  your  presence  thereby  ?  She  wanted  lo  ride,  though 
this  pleasure-ride  was  at  the  same  time  a  separation  from  you?  Oh 
how  cold  and  selfish  are  women's  hearts  !  Were  I  a  woman,  1  would  never 
depart  from  your  side,  1  would  covet  no  greater  happiness  than  to  be 
near  yon,  and  to  listen  to  that  high  and  exalted  wisdom  which  pours 
from  your  inspired  lips.     Were  1  a  woman 

Earl,  1  opine  that  your  wish  is  perfectly  fulfilled,  said  John  Heywood 
seriously.     You   make  in  all  respects  the  impression  of  an  old  woman  i 

All  laughed.  But  the  King  did  not  laugh  ;  he  remained  serious  and 
looked  gloomily  before  him. 

It  is  true,  muttered  he,  she  seemed  excited  with  joy  about  this  excur- 
sion, and  in  her  eyes  shone  a  fire  1  have  seldom  seen  there.  There  must 
be  some  peculiar  circumstance  connected  with  this  ride.  Who  accom- 
panied the  Queen  ? 

Princess  Elizabeth,  said  John  Heywood,  who  had  heard  everything, 
and  saw  clearly  the  arrow  that  the  Earl  had  shot  at  the  Queen.  Pim- 
cess  Elizabeth,  her  true  and  dear  friend,  who  never  leaves  her  side. 
Besides,  her  maids  of  honor  who,  like  the  dragon  in  the  fable,  keep  watch 
over  Lb*  beautiful  Princess. 

Who  else  is  in  the  Queen's  company?  enquired  Henry,  sullenly. 

The  Master  of  Horse,  Earl  of  Sudley,  said  Douglas,  and * 

That  was  an  observation  in  the  highest  degree,  superfluous,  interrupted 
John  Heywood  ;  it  is  perfectly  well  understood  by  itself  that  the  Master 
of  Horse  accompanies  the  Queen.  That  is  just  as  much  his  office,  as  it 
is  yours  to  sing  the  song  of  your  cousin,  my  parrot. 

He  is  right !  said  the  King  quickly.  Thomas  Seymour  must  accom- 
pany her,  and  it  is  my  will  also.  Thomas  Seymour  is  a  faithful 
servant,  and  this  he  has  inherited  from  his  sister  Jane,  my  much  loved 
Queen,  now  at  rest  with  God,  that  he  is  devoted  to  his  King  in  steadfast 
affection. 

The  time  has  not  yet  come  when  one  may  assail  the.  Seymours,  thought 
the  Earl.  The  King  is  yet  attached  to  them  ;  so  he  will  feel  hostile  to- 
wards the  foes  of  the  Seymours.  Let  us  then  begin  our  attack  on  Henry 
Howard — that  is  to  say,  on  the  Queen. 

Who  accompanied  the  Queen  besides?  enquired  Henry  ti.e  Eighth, 
emptying  the  golden  beaker  at  a  single  draught,  as  though  he  would  there- 
by cool  the  fire  which  already  began  to  blaze  within  him.  But  the  fiery 
Rhenish  wine  instead  of  cooling  only  heated  him  yet  more;  it  drove, 
like  a  tempest,  the  fire  kindled  in  his  jealous  heart  in  bright  flames  to 
his  head,  and  made  his  brain  glow  like  his  heart. 

Who  else  accompanied  her  besides  these  1  asked  Earl  Douglas  care- 
lessly. '  Well,  I  think,  the  Lord  Chamberlain,  Earl  of  Surrey. 


*0 

A  dark  .scowl  gathered  on  the  King's  brow.  The'  lion  had  scented  his 
prey. 

The  Lord  Chamberlain  is  not  in  the  Queen's  train !  said  John  Hey- 
wood earnestly. 

No  !  exclaimed  Earl  Douglas.  The  poor  Earl !  That  will  make  him 
very  sad. 

And  why  think  you  that  will  make  him  sad?  asked  the  King  in  a 
voice  very  like  the  roll  of  distant  thunder. 

Because  the  Earl  of  Surrey  is  accustomed  to  live  in  the  sunshine  of 
royal  favor,  Sire ;  because  he  resembles  that  flower  which  always  turns 
its  head  to  the  sun,  and  receives  from  it  vigor,  color  and  brilliancy. 

Let  him  take  care  that  the  sun  does  not  scorch  him,  muttered  the  King. 

Earl,  said  John  Hey  wood,  you  must  put  on  your  spectacles  so  that 
you  can  see  better.  This  time  you  have  confounded  the  sun  with  one 
of  its  satellites.  Earl  Surrey  i*  far  too  prudent  a  man  to  be  so  foolish 
as  to  gaze  at  the  sun,  and  thereby  blind  his  eyes  and  parch  his  brain. 
And  so  he  is  satisfied  to  worship  one  of  the  planets  that  circle  round  the 
sun. 

What  does  the  fool  intend  to  say  by  that?  asked  the  Earl  contempt- 
uously. 

The  wise  will  thereby  give  you  to  understand  that  you  have  this  time 
mistaken  your  daughter  for  the  Queen,  said  John  Heywood,  emphasizing 
sharply  every  word,  and  that  it  has  happened  to  you,  as  to  many  a  great 
astrologer,  you  have  taken  a  planet  for  a  sun. 

Eaii  Douglas  cast  a  dark,  spiteful  look  at  John  Heywood,  who  an- 
swered it  with  one  equally  piercing  and  furious. 

Their  eyes  were  hrmly  fixed  on  each,  others,  and  in  those  eyes  they 
both  read  all  the  hatred  and  all  the  bitterness  which  were  working  in  the 
depths  of  their  souls.  Both  knew  that  they  had  from  that  hour  sworn 
to  each  other  an  enmity  burning  and  full  of  danger. 

The  King  had  noticed  nothing  of  this  dumb  but  significant,  scene.  He 
was  looking  down,  brooding  over  his  gloomy  thoughts,  and  the  storm- 
clouds  rolling  around  his  brow  gathered  darker  and  darker. 

With  an  impetuous  movement  he  arose  from  his  seat,  and  this  time 
he  needed  no  helping  hand  to  stand  up.  Wrath  was  the  mighty  lever 
that  threw  him  up. 

The  courtiers  arose  from  their  seats  in  silence,  arid  nobody  besides 
John  Heywood  observed  the  look  of  understanding  which  Earl  Douglas 
exchanged  with  Gardiner,  Bishop  of  Winchester,  and  Wriothesley,  the 
Lord  Chancellor. 

Ah,  why  is  not  Cranmer  here !  said  John  Heywood  to  himself.  I  see 
the  three  tiger-cats  prowling,  so  there  must  be  prey  to  devour  some- 
where. Well,  I  will  at  any  rate  keep  my  ears  open  wide  enough  to 
hear  their,  roaring. 

The  dinner  is  over,  gentlemen !  said  the  King  hastily  ;  and  the  cour- 
tiers and  gentlemen  in  waiting  bilently  withdrew  to  the  ante-room. 


87 

Only  Earl  Douglas,  Gardiner  and  Wriotheslej  remained  in  the  hall, 
while  John  Hey  wood  crept  softly  into  the  King's  cabinet  and  concealed 
himself  behind  the  hanging  of  gold  brocade,  which  covered  the  door  lead- 
ing from  the  King's  study  to  the  outer  ante-room. 

Mv  Lords,  said  the  King,  follow  me  intu  my  cabinet,  /is  we  arc 
dull,  the  most  advisable  thingfor  us  to  do  is  todivert  ourselves  while 
wc  occupy  ourselves  with  the.  weal  of  ^our  beloved  subjects,  and  consult 
concerning  their  happiness  and  what  is  conducive  to  their  welfare.  Fol- 
low me  then,  and  wc  will  hold  a  general  consultation. 

Earl  Douglas,  your  arm  !  and  as  the  King  leaned  on  it  and  walked 
slowly  towards  the  cabinet,  at  the  entrance  of  which  the  Lord  Chancel- 
lor and  the  Bishop  of  Winchester  were  waiting  for  him,  he  asked  in  a 
low  voice  :  You  say  that  Henry  Howard  dares  ever  intrude  himself  into 
the  Queen's  presence  ? 

Sire,  I  did  not  say  that;  I  meant  only  that  he  is  constantly  to  be  seen 
in  the  Queen's  presence. 

Oh,  you  mean  that  she  perhaps  authorizes  him  to  do  so!  said  the 
King,  grinding  his  teeth. 

Sire,  I  hold  the  Queen  to  be  a  noble  and  dutiful  wife. 

I  should  be  quite  inclined  to  lay  your  head  at  your  feet  if  you  did 
not!  said  the  King,  in  whose  face  the  first  lightning  of  the  bursting  cloud 
of  wrath  began  to  flash. 

My  hoid  belongs  to  the  King!  said  Earl  Douglas  respectfully.  Let 
him  d<>  w  nh  it  as  he  pleases. 

But  Howard — you  mean  then  that  Howard  loves  the  Queen? 

Yes,  Sire,  I  dare  affirm  than. 

Now,  by  the  mother  of  God,  I  will  tread  this  serpent  under  my  feet, 
as  1  did  his  sister!  exclaimed  Jlenry  fiercely.  The  Howards  are  an 
ambitions,  dangerous  and  hypocritical  race. 

A  race  that  never  forgets  that  a  daughter  of  their  house  has  sat  on 
your  throne. 

But  they  shall  forget  it,  cried  the  King,  and  I  must  wash  these  proud 
and  haughty  thoughts  out  of  their  brain  with  their  own  blood.  They 
have  not  then  learnt  from  the  example  of  their  sister,  how  I  punish  dis- 
loyalty. This  insolent  race  needs  another  fresh  example.  Well  they 
shall  have  it.  Only  put  the  means  in  my  hand,  Douglas,  only  a  little 
hook  that  I  can  strike  into  the  flesh  of  these  Howards,  and  I  tell  you, 
with  that  little  hook  I  will  drag  them  to  the  scaffold.  Give  me  proof  of 
the  Earl's  criminal  love,  and  I  promise  you  that  for  this  f  will  grant  you 
what  you  ask. 

Sire,  I  will  give  you  this  pioof. 

When? 

In  four  days,  Sire  !  At  the  great  contest  of  the  poets  which  you  havo 
ordered  to  take  place  on  the  Queen's  birthday. 

I  thank  you,  Douglas,  I  thank  you,  said  the  King  with  an  expression 
almost  of  joy.  In  four  days  you  will  have  rid  me  of  the  troublesome 
race  of  Howards. 


88 

Bat,  Sire,  if  1  cannot  give  the  proof  you  demand  without  accusing  one 
other  person? 

The  King,  who  was  just  about  to  pals  the  door  of  his  cabinet,  stood 
still  and  looked  steadily  into  the  Earl's  eyes.  Then,  said  he,  in  a  tone 
peculiarly  awful:  you  .mean  the  Queen?  Well,  if  she  is  guilty  I  will 
punish  her.  God  h'as  placed  the  sword  in  my  hand  that  I  may  bear  it 
to  his  honor,  and  to  the  terror  of  mankind.  If  the  Queen  has  sinned, 
she  will  be  punished.  Furnish  me  the  proof  of  Howard's  guilt,  and  do 
not  trouble  yourself,  if  we  thereby  discover  the  guilt  of  others.  We 
shall  not  timidly  shrink  back,  but  let  justice  take  its  course. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE    QUEEN'S   FRIEND. 

Earl  Douglas,  Gardiner  and  Wriothesley  had  accompanied  the  King 
into  his  cabinet. 

At  last  the  great  blow  was  to  be  struck,  and  the  plan  of  the  three  en- 
emies of  the  Queen,  so  long  matured,  and  well  considered,  was  to  be  at 
length  put  in  execution.  Therefore,  as  they  followed  the  King,  who 
with  unwonted  activity  preceded  them,  they  exchanged  with  each  other 
one  more  look  of  mutual  understanding. 

By  that  look  Earl  Douglas  said  :  The  hour  has  come.     Be  ready  ! 

And  the  looks  of  his  friends  responded  :  We  are  ready  ! 

John  Heywood,  who,  hidden  behind  the  hanging,  saw  and  observed 
everything,  could  not  forbear  a  slight  shudder  at  the  sight  of  these  four 
men,  whose  dark  and  hard  features  seemed  incapable  of  being  touched 
by  any  ray  of  pity  or  mercy. 

There  was  first  the  King,  that  man  with  the  Protean  countenance, 
across  which  storm  and  sunshine,  God  and  the  Devil  traced  each  minute 
new  lines;  who  could  be  now  an  inspired  enthusiast,  and  now  a  blood- 
thirsty tyrant;  now  a  sentimental  wit  and  anon  a  wanton  reveler ;  the 
King,  on  whose  constancy  nobody,  not  even  himself,  could  rely;  ever 
ready,  as  it  suited  his  caprice  or  his  interest,  to  betray  his  most  faithful 
friend,  and  to  send  to  the  scaffold  to  day  those  whom  but  yesterday  he  had 
caressed  and  assured  of  his  unchanging  affection  ; — the  King,  who  con- 
sidered himself  privileged  to  indulge  with,  impunity  his  low  appetites, 
his  revengeful  impulses,  his  blood-thirsty  inclinations;  who  was  devout 
from  vanity,  because  devotion  afforded  him  an  opportunity  of  indentify- 
ing  himself  with  God,  and  of  regarding  himself  in  some  sort  the  patron 
of  Deity. 


si) 

There  was  Earl  Douglas,  the  crafty  courtier  wiih  ever  smiling  face, 
•who  seemed  to  love  everybody,  while  in  fact  he  hated  all ;  who  assumed 
the  nppearance  of  perfect  harmlcssness  and  seemed  to  be  indifferent  to 
everything  but  pleasure,  while  nevertheless  secretly  he  held  in  his  hand 
:ill  the  strings  of  that  great  net,  which  compassed  alike  Court  and  King. 
Earl  Douglas,  whom  the  King  loved  for  this  alone,  because  he  generally 
gave  him  the  title  of  grand  and  wise  High  Priest  of  the  Chinch,  and  who 
was,  notwithstanding  this,  Loyola's  vicegerent,  and  a  true  and  faithful 
adherent  of  that  Pope  who  had  damned  the  King  as  a  degenerate  son 
and  given  him  over  to  the  wrath  of  God. 

Lastly  there  were  the  two  men  with  dark  malignant  looks,  with  in- 
flexible, stony  faces,  which  were  never  lighted  up  by  a  smile,  or  a  gleam 
of  joy  ;  who  always  condemned,  always  punished,  and  whose  countenan- 
ces never  brightened  save  when  the  dying  shriek  of  the  condemned,  or 
the  groans  of  some  poor  wretch  upon  the  rack  fell  upon  their  ears;  who 
were  the  tormentors  of  humanity,  while  they  called  themselves  the  min- 
isters and  servants  of  God. 

Sire,  said  Gardiner,  when  the  King  had  slowly  taken  his  sent  upon  the 
ottoman  ;  Sire,  let  us  first  ask  the  blessing  of  the  Lord  our  God  on  this 
hour  of  conference.  May  God  who  is  love,  but  who  is  wrath  also,  may 
he  enlighten  and  bless  us ! 

The  King  devoutly  folded  his  hands,  but  it  was  only  a  prayer  of  wrath 
that  animated  his  soul. 

Grant,  O  God,  that  I  may  punish  thine  enemies,  and  everywhere  dash 
in  pieces  the  guilty. 

Amen  !  said  Gardiner,  as  he  repeated  with  solemn  earnestness  the 
King's  words. 

Send  us  the  thunderbolt  of  thy  wrath,  prayed  Wriothesley,  that  we  may 
teach  the  world  to  recognize  thy  power  and  glory  ! 

Earl  Douglas  took  care  not  to  pray  aloud.  What  he  had  to  request 
of  God  was  not  allowed  to  reach  the  ear  of  the  King. 

Grant  O  God,  prayed  he  in  his  heart,  grant  that  my  work  may  pros- 
per, and  that  this  dangerous  Queen  may  ascend  the  scaffold,  to  make 
room  for  my  daughter,  who  is  destined  to  bring  back  into  the  arms  of 
our  Holy  Mother,  the  Church,  this  guilty  and  faithless  King. 

And  now,  my  Lords,  said  the  King  fetching  along  breath,  now  tell  me 
how  stand  matters  in  my  Kingdom,  and  at  my  Court. 

Badly  !  said  Gardiner.  Unbelief  again  lifts  up  its  head.  It  is  nn  hy- 
dra. If  you  strike  off  one  of  its  heads,  two  others  immediately  spring 
up  in  its  place.  This  cursed  sect  of  reformists  and  atheists  multi] 
day  by  day,  and  our  prisons  are  no  longer  sufficient  to  contain  them,  and 
when  we  drag  them  to  the  stake,  their  joyful  and  courageous  death  al- 
ways makes  fresh  proselytes,  and  fresh  apostates. 

,  matters  are  bad,  said  the  Lord  Chancellor  Wriothesley  ;  in  vain 
have  we  promised  pardon  and  forgiveness  to  all  those  who  would  return 
nt  and  contrite  ;  they  laugh  to  scorn  our  offers  of  pardon,  and  pre- 
fer a  death  of  torture  to  the  royal  clemency.     What  avails  it,  that  we 


9Q 

have  burnt  to  death  Miles  Coverdale,  who  had  the  hardihood  to  trans- 
late the  Bible?  His  death  appears  to  have  been  only  the  tocsin  that 
aroused  other  fanatics,  and  without  our  being  able  to  divine  or  suspect 
where  all  these  books  come  from,  they  have  overflowed  and  deluged  the 
whole  land;  and  we  now  already  have  more  than  four  translations  of 
\.hi  Bible.  The  people  read  them  with  eagerness ;  and  the  corrupt  seed 
of  mental  illumination  and  free-thinking  waxes  daily  more  powerful,  and 
more  pernicious. 

And  now  you.  Earl  Douglas?  asked  the  King,  when  the  Lord  Chan- 
cellor ceased.  These  noble  Lords  have  told  me  how  matters  stand  in 
my  Kingdom.  You  will  advise  me  what  is  the  aspect  of  things  at  my 
Court! 

Sire!  said  Earl  Douglas,  slowly  and  solemnly,  for  he  wished  each 
word  to  sink  into  the  King's  breast  like  a  poisoned  arrow,  Sire,  the  peo- 
ple but  follow  the  example  which  the  Court  sets  them.  How  can  you 
require  faith  of  the  people,  when  under  their  own  eyes,  the  Court  turns 
faith  into  ridicule,  and  when  infidels  find  at  Court  aid  and  protection? 

You  accuse,  but  you  give  no  names,  said  the  King  impatiently.  Who 
dares  at  my  Court  be  a  protector  of  heretics  ? 

Cummer,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  !  said  the  three  men,  as  withono 
mouth.  The  signal  word  was  spoken,  the  standard  of  a  bloody  struggle 
setup.  Cranmer?  repeated  the  King  thoughtfully.  He  has,  however, 
always  been  a  faithful  servant,  and  an  attentive  friend  to  me.  It  was 
he  who  delivered  me  from  the  unholy  bond  with  Catharine  of  Arragon; 
it  was  he  too -who  warned  me  of  Catharine  Howard,  and  furnished  me 
with  proofs  of  her  guilt.      Of  what  misdemeanor  do  you  accuse  him  ? 

He  denies  the  Six  Articles,  said  Gardiner,  whose  malicious  face  now 
glowed  with  bitter  hatred.  He  reprobates  Auricular  Confession,  and 
believes  not  that  the  voluntarily  taken  vows  of  celibacy  are  binding. 

If  he  does  that,  then  he  is  a  traitor!  cried  the  King,  who  was  fond  of 
always  throwing  a  reverence  for  chastity  and  modesty,  as  a  kind  of  holy 
mantle,  over  his  own  profligate  and  lewd  life ;  and  whom  nothing  more 
embittered  than  to  encounter  another  on  that  path  of  vice,  which  lie  him- 
self by  virtue  of  his  royal  prerogative,  and  his  crown  by  the  grace  of 
God,  could  travel  in  perfect  safety. 

If  he  does  that,  then  he  is  a  traitor!  My  arm  of  vengeance  will  smite 
him !  repeated  the  King  again.  It  was  I,  who  gave  my  people  the  Six 
Articles,  as  a  sacred  and  authoritative  declaration  of  faith ;  and  I  will 
not  suffer  this  only  true  and  right  doctriue  to  be  assailed  and  obscured. 
But  you  are  mistaken,  my  Lords  !  I  am  acquainted  with  Cranmer  and 
I  know  that  he  is  loyal  and  faithful. 

And  yet  it  is  he,  said  Gardiner,  who  confirms  these  heretics  in  their 
obduracy  and  stiffneckedness.  He  is  the  cause  why  these  lost  wretches 
do  not,  from  the  fear  of  divine  wrath  at  least,  return  to  you,  their  sover- 
eign and  high  priest.  For  he  preaches  to  them,  that  God  is  love  and 
mercy  ;  he  teaches  them,  that  Christ  came  into  the  world  in  order  to  bring 
to  the  world  love  and  the  forgiveness  of  sins,  and  that  they  alone  are 


81 

Christ's  true  disciples  and  servants,  who  emulate  his  love.  Do  you  not 
see  then,  Sire,  that  this  is  a  covert  and  indirect  accusation  against 
yourself,  and  that  while  he  praises  pardoning  love,  he  at  the  same  time 
condemns  and  accuses  your  righteous  and  punitory  wrath? 

The  King  did  not  answer  immediately,  but  sat  with  his  eyes  fixed 
grave  aud  pondering.  The  fanatical  priest  had  gone  too  far ;  and  %\  ith- 
out  being  aware  of  it,  it  was  he  himself,  who  was  that  very  instant  ac 
eusing  the  King. 

Earl  Douglas  felt  this.  He  read  in  the  King's  face  that  he  was  just 
then  in  one  of  those  moments  of  contrition,  which  sometimes  came  over 
him  when  his  soul  held  involuntary  intercourse  with  itself. 

It  was  necessary  to  arouse  the  sleeping  tiger  and  point  out  to  him 
some  prey,  so  as  to  make  him  again  blood-thirsty. 

It  would  be  proper,  if  Cranmcr  preached  only  Christian  love,  said 
he.  Then  would  he  be  only  a  faithful  servant  of  his  Lord  and  a  fol- 
lower of  his  King.  But  he  gives  to  the  world  an  abominable  example 
of  a  disobedient  and  peifidious  servant ;  he  denies  the  truth  of  the  Six 
Articles,  not  in  words  but  in  deeds.  You  have  ordered'that  the  priests 
of  the  Church  remain  single.  Now,  then — the  Archbishop  of  Canter- 
bury is  married  ! 

Married?  cried  the  King,  his  visage  glowing  with  rage.  Ah,  I  will 
chastise  him,  this  transgressor  of  my  holy  laws!  A  minister  of  the 
Church,  a  priest,  whose  whole  life  should  be  naught  but  an  exhibition  of 
holiness,  an  endless  communion  with  God,  and  whose  high  calling  it  is 
to  renounce  fleshly  lusts  and  earthly  d3sires  !  And  he  is  married  !  I 
will  make  him  feel  the  whole  weight  of  my  royal  anger.  He  shall 
learn  from  his  own  experience  that  the  King's  justice  is  inexorable,  and 
that  in  every  case  he  smites  the  head  of  the  sinner  ;  be  he  who  he 
may. 

Your  Majesty  is  the  embodiment  of  wisdom  and  justice,  said  Doug- 
las, and  your  faithful  servants  well  know,  if  the  royal  justice  is  some- 
times tardy  in  smiting  guilty  offenders,  this  happpens  not  through  your 
will,  but  through  your  servants  who  venture  to  stay  the  arm  of  justice. 

When,  and  where,  has  this  happened?  asked  Henry,  and  his  face 
flushed  with  rage  and  excitement.  Where  is  the  offender  whom  I  have 
not  punished  ?  Where  in  my  realm  lives  a  being  who  has  sinned 
against  God  or  his  King,  and  whom  I  have  not  dashed  to  atoms? 

Sire,  said  Gardiner  solemnly,  Anne  Askew  is  yet  alive 

She  lives  to  mock  at  your  wisdom  and  to  scoff  at  your  holy  creed  ! 
cried  Wriothesley. 

She  lives,  because  Archbishop  Cranmer  wills  that  she  should  not  die, 
said  Douglas  shrugging  his  shoulders. 

The  King  broke  out  into  a  short,  dry  laugh.  Ah,  Cranmer  wills  not 
that  Anne  Askew  die  !  said  he  sneering.  He  wills  not  that  this  girl, 
who  has  bo  fearfully  offended  against  her  King  and  ngainst  God,  should 
be  punished ! 

Yes,  she  has  offended  fearfully,  and  yet  two  years  have  passed  away 


92 

since  her  offence,  cried  Gardiner.     Two  years  which  she  has  spent  in 
deriding  God  and  njockipg  the  King. 

Ah,  said  the  King,  we  have  still  hoped  to  (urn  this  young,  misguided 
creature  from  the  ways  of  sin  and  error  to  the  path  of  wisdom  and  re- 
pentance. We  wished  for  once  to  u'tve  our  people  a  shining  example  of 
our  willingness  to  forgive  those  who  repent  and  renounce  their  heresy,, 
and  to  restore  them  to  a  participation  of  our  royal  favor.  Therefore  it 
was  that  we  com  missioned  you,  my  Lord  Bishop,  by  virtue  of  your 
prayers  and  your  forcible  and  convincing  words,  to  pluck  this  poor  child 
from  the  claws  of  the  devil,  who  has  charmed  her  ear. 

But  she  is  unbending,  said  Gardiner,  grinding  his  teeth.  In  vain  have 
I  depicted  to  her  the  pains  of  hell,  which  await  her,  if  she  return  not  to 
the  faith ;  in  vain  have  I  subjected  her  to  every  variety  of  torture  and 
penance  ;  in  vain  have  I  sent  to  her  in  prison  other  converts,  and  had 
them  pray  with  her  night  and  day,  incessantly  ;  she  remains  unyield-' 
ing,  hard  as  stone  ;  and  neither  the  fear  of  punishment  nor  the  prospect 
of  freedom  and  happiness  have  the  power  to  soften  that  marble  heart. 

There  is  one  means  yet  untried,  said  Wriothesley. — A  means,  more- 
over, which  is  a  more  effective  preacher  of  repentance  than  the  most 
enthused  orators  and  the  most  fervent  prayers  ;  and  which  I  have  to 
thank  for  bringing  back  to  God  and  the  faith,  many  of  the  most  har- 
dened heretics. 

And  this  means  is? 

The  Hack,  your  Majesty  ! 

Ah,  the  Kack  !  replied  the  King  with  an  involuntary  shudder. 

All  means  are  good  that  lead  to  the  holy  end  !  said  Gardiner,  de- 
voutly folding  his  hands. 

The  soul  must  be  saved,  though  the  body  be  pierced  with  wounds  ! 
cried  Wriothesley. 

The  people  must  be  convinced,  said  Douglas,  that  the  lofty  spirit  of 
the  King  spares  not  even  those  who  are  under  the  protection  of  influen- 
tial  and  mighty  personages.  The  people  murmur  that  this  time  justice 
is  not  permitted  to  prevail,  because  Archbishop  Cranmer  protects  Anne 
Askew,  and  the  Queen  is  her  friend. 

The  Queen  is  never  the  friend  of  a  criminal !  said  Henry  vehemently. 

Perchance  she  does  not  consider  Anne  Askew  a  criminal,  responded 
Earl  Douglas  with  a  slight  smile.  It  is  known  indeed  that  the  Queen 
is  a  great  friend  of  the  Reformation;  and  the  people,  who  dare  not  call 
her  a  heretic, — the  people  call  her  "  the  Protestant." 

Is  it  then  really  believed  that  it  is  Catharine  who  protects  Anne 
Askew,  and  keeps  her  from  the  stake  %  inquired  the  King  thoughtfully. 

It  is  so  thought,  your  Majesty  ! 

They  shall  soon  see  that  they  are  mistaken,  and  that  Henry  the  Eighth 
well  deserves  to  be  called  the  Defender  of  the  Faith  and  the  Head  of 
his  Church,  cried  the  King  with  burning  rage.  t  For  when  have  I  shown 
myself  so  long  suffering,  and  weak  in  punishing,  that  people  believe  me 
inclined  to  pardon  and  deal  'gently  1    Have  I  not  sent  to  the  scaffold 


93 

even  Thomas  More,-  and  Cromwell,  two  renowned,  and  in  a  certain  re- 
spect noble  and  high  minded  men,  because  they  dared  defy  my  supre- 
macy and  oppose  the  doctrine  and  ordinance  which  1  commanded  them 
to  believe'?  Have  1  not  sent  to  the  block  two  of  my  Queens — two 
beautiful  young  women,  in  whom  my  heart  was  well  pleased,  even 
when  I  punished  them — because  they  had  provoked  my  wrath?  Who, 
after  such  brilliant  examples  of  our  annihilating  justice,  who  dare  ac- 
cuse ns  of  forbearance  ? 

But  at  that  time,  Sire,  said  Douglas  in  his  soft,  insinuating  voice,  but 
at  that  time  no  Queen  as  yet  stood  at  your  side,  who  called  heretics 
true  believers  and  favored  traitors  with  her  friendship. 

The  King  frowned,  and  his  wrathful  look  enoountoied  the  friendly  and 
submissive  couutenance  of  the  Earl.  You  know  I  hate  these  covert 
attacks,  said  he.  If  you  can  tax  the  Queen  with  any  crime,  well  now, 
do  so  !     If  you  cannot,  hold  your  peace! 

The  Queen  is  a  noble  and  virtuous  lady,  said  the  Earl,  only  she  some- 
times permits  herself  to  be  led  away  by  her  magnanimous  spirit.  Or 
how,  your  Majesty — can  it  possibly  be  with  your  permission  that  my 
Lady,  the  Queen,  maintains  a  correspondence  with  Anne  Askew? 

What  say  you?  The  Queen  in  correspondence  with  Anne  Askew  ? 
cried  the  King  in  a  voice  of  thunder.  That  is  a  lie,  a  shameless  lie, 
hatched  up  to  ruin  the  Queen  ;  for  it  is  very  well  known  that  the  poor 
King,  who  has  been  so  often  deceived,  so  often  impospd  npon,  believes 
himself  to  have  at  last  found  in  this  woman  a  being  whom  he  can  trust, 
and  in  whom  he  can  put  faith.  And  they  grudge  him  that.  They  wish 
to  strip  him  of  this  last  hope  also,  that  his  heart  may  harden  entirely 
to  stone,  and  no  emotion  of  pity  evermore  find  access  to  him.  Ah, 
Douglas,  Douglas,  beware  of  my  wrath,  if  you  cannot  prove  what  you 
say ! 

Sire,  I  can  prove  it !  For  Lady  Jane  herself,  no  longer  ago  than  yes- 
terday,  was  made  to  give  up  a  note  from  Anne  Askew  to  the  Queen. 

The  King  remained  silent  for  awhile,  and  gazed  fixedly  on  the  ground. 
His  three  confidants  observed1  him  with  breathless,  trembling  expecta- 
tion. 

At  length  the  King  raised  his  head  again,  and  turned  Jhis  gaze,  which 
was  now  giave  and  steady,  upon  the  Lord  Chancellor. 

My  Lord  Chancellor  Wriothesley,  said  he,  I  empower  you  to  conduct 
Anne  Askew  to  the  torture-room,  and  try  whether  the  torments  which 
are  prepared  for  the  body  are  perchance  able  to  bring  this  erring  soul 
to  an  acknowledgement  of  her  faults.  My  Lord  Bishop  Gardiner,  I 
give  my  word  that  I  will  give  attention  to  your  accusation  against  the 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  and  that,  if, it  be  well  founded,  he  shall  nob 
pe  punishment.  My  Lord  Douglas,  I  will  give  my  people,  and  all 
the  world,  proof  that  I  am  still  God's  righteous  and  avenging  vicege- 
rent on  earth,  and  that  no  consideration  can  restrain  my  wrath,  no  after- 
thought stay  my  arm,  whenever  it  is  ready  to  fall  and  smite  the  head 
of  the  guilty.     And  now,  my  Lords,  let  us  declare  this  session  at  an 


94 

end.  Let  us  breathe  a  little  from  these  exertions,  and  seek  some  ire- 
creation  for  one  brief  hour. 

My  Lords  Gardiner  and  Wriothesley,  you  are  now  at  liberty.  You, 
Douglas,  will  accompany  me  into  the  small  reception  room,  i  want  to 
see  bright  and  laughing  faces  around  me.  Call  John  Hey  wood,  and  if 
you  meet  any  ladies  in  the  palace,  of  course,  I  beg  them  to  shed  on  us 
a  little  of  that  sunshine,  which  you  say  is  peculiarly  woman's. 

He  laughed  and.  leaning  on  the  Earl's  arm,  left  the  cabinet. 

Gardiner  and  Wriothesley  stood  there  in  silence  watching  the  King, 
who  slowly  and  heavily  traversed  the  adjacent  hall,  and  whose  cheery 
and  laughing  voice  came  ringing  back  to  them. 

He  is  a  weather-cock,  turning  every  moment  from  side  to  side,  said 
Gardiner  with  a  contemptuous  shrug  of  the  shoulders.  • 

He  calls  himself  God's  sword  of  vengeance,  but  he  is  nothing  more 
than  a  weak  tool,  which  we  bend  and  use  at  our  will,  muttered  Wrioth- 
esley with  a  hoarse  laugh.  Poor,  pitiful  fool,  deeming  himself  so 
mighty  and  sturdy;  imagining  himself  a  free  King,  ruling  by  his  sove- 
reign will  alone,  and  yet  he  ii  but  our  servant  and  drudge.  Our  great 
work  is  approaching  its  end,  and  we  shall  one  day  triumph.  Anne 
Askew's  death  is  the  sign  of  a  new  covenant,  which  will  deliver  England 
and  trample  the  heretics  like  dust  beneath  our  feet.  And  when  at  length 
we  shall  have  put  down  Cranmer,  and 'brought  Catharine  Parr  to  the 
scaffold,  then  will  we  give  King  Henry  a  Queen  who  will  reconcile  him 
with  God  and  the  Church,  out  of  which  is  no  salvation. 

Amen,  so  be  it !  said  Gardiner ;  and  arm  in  arm  they  both  left  the 
cabinet. 

Deep  stillness  now  reigned  in  that  little  spot,  and  nobody  saw  John 
HeywQod  as  he  now  came  from  behind  the  hanging,  and  completely 
worn  out  aud  faint,  slipped  for  a  moment  into  a  chair. 

Now  I  know,  so  far  at  least,  the  plan  of  these  blood-thirsty  tiger-cats, 
muttered  he.  They  wish  to  give  Henry  a  popish  queen,  and  so  Cran- 
mer  must  be  overthrown,  that,  when  they  have  deprived  the  Queen  of 
this  powerful  prop,  they  may  destroy  her  also  and  tread  her  in  the  dust. 
But  as  God  liveth,  they  shall  not  succeed  in  this  !  God  is  just,  and  he 
will  at  last  punish  these  evil-doers.  And  supposing  there  is  no  God, 
then  will  we  try  a  little  with  the  Devil  himself.  No,  they  shall  not  des- 
troy the  noble  Cranmer  and  this  beautiful,  high-minded  Queen.  I  forbid 
it — I,  John  Heywood,  the  King's  fool.  I  will  see  everything,  observe 
everything,  hear  everything.  They  shall  find  me  everywhere  pp.  their 
path;  and  when  they  poison  the  King's  ear  with  their  diabolical  whis- 
perings, 1  will  heal  it  again  with  my  merry  deviltries.  The  King's  fool 
will  be  the  guardian  angel  of  the  Queen. 


95 


CHAPTER  XV. 

JOHN    HEYWOOD. 

After  so  much  care  and  excitement,  the  King  needed  an  hour  of  re- 
creation and  amusement.  Since  the  fair  young  Queen  was  seeking  these 
far  away  in  the  chase,  and  amid  the  beauties  of  nature,  Henry  must,  no 
doubt,  be  content  to  seek  them  for  himself,  and  in  a  way  different  from 
the  Queen's.  His  unwieldiness  and  his  load  of  flesh  prevented  him 
from  pursuing  the  joys  of  life  beyond  his  own  halls ;  so  the  lords  and 
ladies  of  his  Court  had  to  bring  them  hither  to  him,  and  station  the  flit- 
ting goddess  of  joy,  with  her  wings  fettered,  in  front  of  the  King's  trun. 
die-chair. 

The  gout  had  that  day  again  overcome  that  mighty  King  of  earth ; 
and  a  heavy  grotesque  mass  it  was,  which  sat  there  in  the  elbow-chair. 

But  the  courtiers  still  called  him  a  fine  looking  and  fascinating  man  ; 
nnd  the  ladies  still  smiled  on  him  and  said,  by  their  sighs  and  by  their 
looks,  that  they  loved  him  ;  that  he  was  ever  to  them  the  same  hand- 
some and  captivating  man  that  he  was  twenty  years  before,  when  yefc 
young,  fine  looking  and  slim.  How  they  smile  upon  him  aud  ogle  him  ! 
How  Lady  Jane,  the  maiden  otherwise  so  haughty  and  so  chaste,  does 
wish  to  insnare  him  with  her  bright  eyes  as  with  a  net !  How  bewitch- 
ingly  does  the  Dutchess  of  Richmond,  that  fair  and  voluptuous  woman, 
laugh  at  the  King's  merry  jests  and  double  entendres  ! 

Poor  King!  whose  corpulency  forbids  him  to  dance  as  he  once  had 
done  with  so  much  pleasure  and  so  much  dexterity  !  Poor  King  !  who^-o 
age  forbids  him  to  sing  as  once  he  had  done  to  the  delight  both  of  the 
Court  and  of  himself! 

But  there  are  yet,  however,  pleasant,  precious,  joyous  hours,  when  the 
man  revives  some  little  in  the  King  ;  when  even  youth  once  more  again 
awakes  within  him  and  smiles  in  a  few  dear  blessed  pleasures. 

The  King  still  has  at  least  eyes  to  perceive  beauty,  and  a  heart  to 
feel  it. 

How  beautiful  Lady  Jane  is,  this  white  lily  with  the  dark  star  like 
eyes!  How  beautiful  Lady  Richmond,  this  full-blown  red  rose  with  the 
pearl-white  teeth ! 

And  they  both  smile  at  him  ;  and  when  the  King  swears  he  loves 
them,  they  bashfully  cast  down  their  eyes  and  sigh. 

Do  you  sigh,  Jane,  because  you  love  me  ] 

Oh,  Sire,  you  mock  me.  It  would  be  a  sin  for  me  to  love  you,  for 
Queen  Catharine  is  living. 

Yes,  she  is  living  !  muttered  the  King  ;  and  his  brow  darkened  -f  and 
for  a  moment  the  emile  disappeared  from  his  lips. 


96 

Lady  Jane  had  committed  a  mistake.  She  had  reminded  the  King 
of  his  wife,  when  it  was  yet  too  soon  to  ask  for  her  death. 

John  Hey  wood  read  this  in  the  countenance  of  his  royal  master,  and 
resolved  to  take  advantage  of  it.  He  wished  to  divert  the  attention  of 
the  King,  and  to  draw  it  away  from  the  beautiful,  captivating  women, 
who  were  juggling  him  with  their  bewitching  charms. 

Yes,  the  Queen  lives!  said  he  joyfully,  and  God  be  praised  for  it! 
For  how  tedious  and  dull  it  would  be  at  this  Court  had  we  not  our  fair 
Queen,  who  is  wise  as  Methuselah,  and  innocent  and  good  as  a  new-born 
babe.  Do.  you  not,  Lady  Jane,  say  with  me,  God  be  praised  that  Queen 
Catharine  is  living1? 

I  say  so  with  you  !  said  Jane  with  ill-concealed  vexation. 

And  you,  King  Henry,  do  you  not  say  it  too  1 

Of  course,  fool ! 

Ah,  why  am  1  not  King  Henry  !  sighed  John  Hey  wood.  King,  I 
envy  you  not  your  crown,  or  your  royal  mantle  ;  not  your  attendants,  or 
your  money.  I  envy  you  only  this,  that  you  can  say,  God  be  praised 
that  my  wife  is  still  alive!  while'  I  never  know  but  one  phrase:  God 
have  pity,  my  wife  is  still  alive  !  Ah,  it  is  very  seldom,  King,  that  I 
have  heard  a  married  man  speak  otherwise  !  You  are  in  that  too,  as  in 
all  things  else,  an  exception,  King  Henry ;  and  your  people  have  never 
loved  )ou  more  warmly  and  purely  than  when  you  say :  I  thank  God 
that  my  consort  is  alive !  Believe  me,  you  are  perhaps  the  only  man 
at  your  Court  who  speaks  after  this  manner,  however  ready  they  may 
be  to  be  your  parrots,  and  re  echo  what  the  Lord  High  Priest  says. 

The  only  man  who  loves  his  wife  !  said  Lady  Richmond.  Behold 
now  the  rude  babbler  !  Do  you  not  believe  then  that  we  women  de- 
serve to  beloved  ? 

1  am  convinced  that  you  do  not ! 

And  for  what  do  you  take  us  then? 

For  cats,  which  God,  since  he  had  no  more  cat-skin,  stuck  into  a  smooth 
hide ! 

Take  care,  John,  that  we  do  not  show  you  our  claws!  cried  the 
Duchess  laughing. 

Do  it  anyhow,  my  Lady  !  I  will  then  make  a  cross  and  ye  will  dis- 
appear. For  devils,  you  well  know,  cannot  endure  the  sight  of  the  holy 
cross,  and  ye  are  devils. 

John  Heywood,  who  was  a  remarkably  fine  singer,  seized  the  mando- 
lin, which  lay  near  him,  and  began  to  sing. 

It  was  a  song,  possible  only  in  those  days,  and  at  Henry's  voluptuous 
and  at  the  same  time  time  canting  Court.  A  song  full  of  the  most 
wanton  allusions;  of  the  most  cutting  jests  against  both  Monks  and  wo- 
men ;  a  song  which  made  Henry  laugh,  and  the  ladies  blush ;  and  in 
which  John  Heywood  had  poured  forth  in  glowing  dithyrambics,  all 
his  secret  indignation  against  Gardiner,  the  sneaking  hypocrite  of  a  priest, 
and  against  Lady  Jane,  the  Queen's  false  and  treacherous  friend. 

But  the  ladies  laughed  not.    They  darted  flashing  glances  at  John 


07 

Hey  wood  ;  and  Lady  Richmond  earnestly  and  resolutely  demanded  the 
punishment  of  the  perfidious  wretch  who  dared  to  defame  woman. 

The  King  laughed  still  harder.  The  rage  of  the  ladies  was  so  exceed- 
ingly amusing. 

Sire,  said  the  beautiful  Richmond,  he  has  insulted  not  us,  but  the 
whole  sex ;  and  in  the  name,  of  our  sex,  1  demand  revenge  for  the  affront. 

Yes,  revenge  !  cried  Lady  Jane  hotly. 

Revenge  !  repeated  the  rest  of  the  ladies. 

See  now,  what  pious  and  gentle  hearted  doves  ye  are !  cried  John 
Hey  wood. 

The  King  said  laughingly :  well  now,  you  shall  have  your  will,  you 
shall  chastise*  him. 

Yes,  yes,  scourge  me  with  rods,  as  they  once  scourged  the  Messiah, 
because  he  told  the  Pharisees  the  truth.  See  here,  I  am  already  put- 
ting on  the  crown  of  thorns.  m 

He  took  the  King's  velvet  cap  with  solemn  air,  and  put  it  on. 

Yes,  whip  him,  whip  him!  cried  the  King  laughing,  as  he  pointed  to 
the  gigantic  vases  of  Chinese  porcelain,  containing  euormous  bunches  of 
roses,  on  whose  long  stems  arose  a  real  forest  of  formidable  looking 
thorns. 

Pull  the  large  bouquets  to  pieces ;  take  the  roses  in  your  hand,  and 
whip  him  with  the  stems  !  said  the'  King,  and  his  eyes  glistened  with 
inhuman  delight,  for  the  scene  promised  to  be  quite  interesting.  The 
rose  stems  were  long  and  hard,  and  the  thorns  on  them  pointed  and 
sharp  as  daggers.  How  nicely  they  would  pierce  the  flesh,  and  how  he 
would  yell  and  screw  his  face,  the  good  natured  fool ! 

Yes,  yes,  let  him  take  off  his  coat,  and  we  will  whip  him  !  cried  the 
Duchess  of  Richmond  ;  and  the  women,  all  joining  in  the  cry,  rushed 
like  furies  upon  John  Heywood,  and  forced  him  to  lay  aside  his  silk 
upper  garment.  Then  they  hurried  to  the  vases,  snatched  out  the  bou- 
quets, and  with  busy  hands  picked  out  the  longest  and  stoutest  stems. 
And  loud  were  their  exclamations  of  satisfaction,  if  the  thorns  were 
right  large  and  sharp,  such  as  would  penetrate  the  flesh  of  the  offender 
right  deeply. 

The  Ifing's  laughter  and  shouts  of  approval  animated  them  more  and 
more,  and  made  them  more  excited  and  furious.  Their  cheeks  glowed, 
their  eyes  glared;  they  resembled  Bachantes  circling  the  god  of  riotous 
joviality  with  their  shouts  of  Evoe  !  Evoe  ! 

Not  yet !  do  not  strike  yet!  cried  the  King.  You  must  first  strength- 
en yourselves  for  the  exertion,  and  fire  your  arm  for  a  powerful  blow! 

He  took  the  largo  golden  beaker  which  stood  before  him  and,  tasting 
it,  presented  it  to  Lady  Jane. 

Drink,  my  Lady,  drink,  that  your  arm  may  be  strong  ! 
And  they  all  drunk,  and  with  animated   smiles   pressed  their  lips  on 
the  spot  which  the  King's  mouth  had  touched.     And  now  their  eyes  had 
a  brighter  flame,  and  their  cheeks  a  more  fierjf  glow. 

A  strange  and  exciting  sight  it  was,  to  see  those  beautiful  women 


98 

burning  with  malicious  joy  and  thirst  fjr  vengeance,  who  for  the  mo- 
ment  had  laid  aside  all  their  elegant  attitudes,  their  lofty  and  haughty 
airs,  to  transform  themselves  into  wanton  Bachantes,  bent  on  chastising 
the  offender,  who  had  so  often  and  so  bitterly  lashed  them  all  with  his 
tongue.  , 

Ah,  I  would  a  painter  were  here,  said  the  King.  He  should  paint  us 
a  picture  of  the  chaste  nymphs  of  Diana  pursuing  Acteeom.  You  are 
Actaeom,  John ! 

But  they  are  not  the  chaste  nymphs,  King;  no,  far  from  it,  cried 
Hey  wood  laughing;  and  between  these  fair  women  and  Diana  1  find  no 
resemblance,  but  only  a  difference. 

And  in  what  consists  the  difference,  John  ? 

Herein,  Sire,  that  Diana  carried  her  horn  at  her  side ;  but  these  fair 
ladies  make  their  husbands  wear  their  horns  on  the  forehead  ! 

A.  loud  peal  of  laughter  from  the  gentlemen,  a  yell  of  rage  from  the 
ladies,  was  the  reply  to  this  new  epigram  of  John  Heywood. 

They  arranged  themselves  in  two  rows,  and  thus  formed  a  lane 
through  which  John  Heywood  had  to  pass 

Come,  John  Heywood,  come  and  receive  your  punishment ;  and  they 
raised  their  thorny  rods  threateningly,  and  flourished  them  with  angry 
gestures  high  above  their  heads. 

The  scene  was  becoming  to  John  in  all  respects  very  piquant,  for 
these  rods  had  very  sharp  thorns,  and  only  a  thin  batist  shirt  covered 
his  back. 

With  bold  step,  however,  he  approached  the  fatal  passage  through 
which  he  was  to  pass. 

Already  he  beheld  the  rods  drawn  back  ;  and  it  seemed  to  him  a9  if 
the  thorns  were  even  now  piercing  his  back. 

He  halted,  and  turned  with  a  laugh  to  the  King.  Sire,  since  you 
have  condemned  me  to  die  by  the  hands  of  these  nymphs,  I  claim  the 
right  of  every  condemned  criminal — a  last  favor. 

The  which  we  grant  you,  John  1 

I  demand  that  1  may  put  on  these  fair  women  one  condition — one  con- 
dition on  which  they  may  whip  me.     Does  your  Majesty  grant  me  this? 

I  grant  it!  * 

And  you  solemnly  pledge  me  the  word  of  a  King  that  this  condition 
shall  be  faithfully  kept  and  fulfilled1?      , 

My  solemn  kingly  word  for  it ! 

Now,  then,  said  John  Heywood  as  he  entered  the  passage,  now  then, 
my  ladies,  my  condition  is  this  :  That  one  of  you  who  has  had  the  most 
lovers,  and  has  oftenest  decked  her  husband's  head  with  horns,  let  her 
lay  the  first  stroke  on  my  back* 

A  deep  silence  followed.  The  raised  arms  of  the  fair  women  sunk. 
The  roses  fell  from  their  hands  and  dropped  to  the^ground.  Just  be- 
fore so  bloodthirsty  and  revengeful,  they  seemed  now  to  have  become 
the  softest  and  gentlest  of  beings. 

•Flogel's  Geschichte  der  Hofnarren,  page  899. 


90 

But  could  (heir  looks  have  hilled,  their  fire  certainly  would  have  con- 
sumed poor  John  Ilcy wood,  who  now  gazed  at  them  with  an  insolent 
sneer,  and  advanced  into  the  very  midst  of  their  lines. 

Now,  my  ladies,  you  strike  him  not?  asked  the  King. 

No,  your  Majesty,  we  despise  him  too  much  even  to  wish  to  chastise 
him,  said  the  Duchess  of  Richmond. 

Shall  your  enemy  who  has  injured  you  go  thus  unpunished  ?  asked 
the  King.  No,  no,  my  ladies;  it  shall  not  be  said  that  there  is  a  man 
in  my  kingdom  whom  I  have  let  escape  when  so  rrchly  deserving  pun- 
ishment. We  will,  therefore,  impose  some  other  punishment  on  him. 
He  calls  himself  a  poet,  and  has  often  boasted  that  he  could  make 
his  pen  fly  as  fast  as  his  tongue!  Now,  then,  John,  show  us  in  this 
manner  that  you  are  no  liar!  I  command  you  to  write,  for  the  great 
Court  festival  which  takes  place  in  a  fewr  days,  a  new  interlude,  and  one 
indeed,  hear  you,  John,  which  is  calculated  to  make  the  greatest  growl- 
er merry,  and  over  which  these  ladies  will  be  forced  to  laugh  so  heart- 
ily that  they  will  forget  all  their  ire! 

Oh,  said  John  dolefully,  what  an  equivocal  and  lewd  poem  it  must 
be  to  please  these  ladies  and  make  them  laugh.  My  King,  we  must, 
then,  to  please  these  dear  ladies,  forget  a  little  our  chastity,  modesty  and 
maiden  bashfulness,  and  .speak  in  the  spirit  of  the  ladies — that  is  to  say, 
as  lasciviously  as  possible. 

You  are  a  wretch  !  said  Lady  Jane ;  a  vulgar,  hypocritical  fool. 

Earl  Douglas,  your  daughter  is  speaking  to  you,  said  John  Hey  wood 
calmly.     She  flatters  you  much,  your  tender  daughter. 

Now  then,  John,  you  have  heard  my  orders,  and  will  you  obey  them  1 
In  four  days  will  this  festival  begin;  1  give  you  two  days  more.  In 
six  days,  then,  you  have  to  write  a  new  interlude.  And  if  he  fails  to 
do  it;  my  ladies,  you  shall  whip  him  until  you  bring  the  blood  ;  and 
that  without  any  condition. 

Just  then  was  heard  without,  a  flourish  of  trumpets  and  the  clatter  of 
horse-hoofs.  * 

The  Queen  has  returned,  said  Joha  Ileywood  with  a  countenance 
beaming  with  joy,  as  he  fixed  his  smiling  gaze  full  of  mischievous  satis- 
faction on  Lady  Jane.  Nothing  further  now  remains  for  you  to  do,  but 
dutifully  to  meet  your  mistress  upon  the  great  staircase,  for  as  you 
}*o  wisely  said  before,  the  Queen  still  lives. 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  John  Heywood  ran  out  aud  rushed 
through  the  ante-room  and  down  the  steps  to  meet  the  Queen.  Lady 
Jane  watched  him  with  a  dark,  angry  look  ;  and  as  she  turned  slowly 
to  the  door  to  go  and  meet  ihe  Queen,  she  muttered  low  between  her 
closely  pressed  lips :  The  fool  must  die,  for  he  is  tho  Queen's  friend. 


J  00 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE   CONFIDANT. 

The  Queen  was  just  ascending  the  steps  of  the  great  public  stair- 
case, and  she  greeted  John  Hey  wood  with  a  friendly  smile. 

My  Lady,  said  he  aloud,  1  have  a  few  words  in  private  to  say  to  you 
in  the  name  of  his  Majesty. 

Words  in  private !  repeated  Catharine,  as  she  stopped  upon  the  ter- 
race of  the  palace.  Well  then,  fall  back,  my  lords  and  ladies,  we  wish 
to  receive  his  Majesty's  mysterious  message. 

The  royal  train  silently  and  respectfully  withdrew  into  the  large  ante- 
room of  the  palace,  while  the  Queen  remained  alone  with  John  Hey- 
wood  on  the  terrace. 

Now  speak,  John. 

Queen,  heed  well  my  words,  and  grave  them  deep  on  your  memory  ! 
A  conspiracy  is  forged  against  you,  and  in  a  few  days,  at  the  great  fes- 
tival, it  will  be  ripe  for  execution.  Guard  well,  therefore,  every  word 
you  utter,  aye,  even  your  very  thoughts.  Beware  of  every  dangerous 
step,  for  you  may  be  certain  that  a  listener  stands  behind  you  !  And 
if  you  need  a  confidant,  confide  in  no  one  but  me  !  I  tell  you  a  great 
danger  lies  before  you,  and  only  by  prudence  and  presence  of  mind  will 
you  be  able  to  avoid  it. 

This  time  the  Queen  did  not  laugh  at  her  friend's  warning  voice.  She 
was  serious  ;  she  even  trembled. 

She  had  lost  her  proud  sense  of  security  and  her  serene  confidence — 
she  was  no  longer  guiltless — she  had  a  dangerous  secret  to  keep,  conse- 
quently she  felt  a  dread  of  discovery  ;  and  she  trembled  not  merely  for 
herself,  but  also  for  him  whom  she  loved. 

And  V  what  consists  this  plot  ?  asked  she  with  agitation. 

.1  do  not  yet  understand  it ;  I  only  know  that  it  exists.  But  I  will  search 
it  out,  and  if  your  enemies  lurk  about  you  with  watchful  eyes,  well 
then,  I  will  have  spying  eyes  to  observe  them. 

And  is  it  1  alone  that  they  threaten  % 

No,  Queen,  your  friend  also. 

Catharine  trembled.     What  friend,  John1? 

Archbishop  Cranmer. 

Ah,  the  Archbishop!  replied  she,  drawing  a  deep  breath.  And  is  he 
all,  John1?     Does  their  enmity  pursue  only  me  and  him1? 

Only  you  two !  said  John  Heywood  sadly,  for  he  had  fully  under- 
stood the  Queen's  sigh  of  relief,  and  he  knew  that  she  had  trembled  for 
another.     But  remember,  Queen,  that  Cranmer's  destruction  would  be 


toi 

t 
likewise  your  own,  and  that  as  you  protect  the  Archbishop,  he  also  will 
protect  you  witli  the  King — you,  Queen,  and  your  friends. 

Catharine  gave  a  slight  Start;  and  the  crimson  on  her  cheek  grew 
deeper. 

I  shall  always  be  mindful  of  that,  aud  ever  be  a  true  and  real  friend 
to  him  and  to  you ;  for  you  two  are  my  only  friends.     Is  it  not  so? 

No,  your  Majesty,  I  spoke  to  you  of  yet  a  third,  of  Thomas  Seymour. 

Oh,  he  !  cried  she  with  a  sweet  smile.  Then  she  said  suddenly,  and 
in  a  low  quick  voice  :  you  say  that  I  must  trust  no  one  here  but  you.  Now 
theu,  I  will  give  you  a  proof  of  my  confidence.  Await  me  in  the  green 
summer  house  at  twelve  o'clock  to-night.  You  must  be  my  attendant 
on  a  daugerous  excursion.     Have  you  courage,  John? 

Courage  to  lay  down  my  life  for  you,  Queen! 

Come  then,  but  bring  your  weapon  with  you. 

At  your  command  !  aud  is  that  your  only  order  for  to  day  ? 

That  is  all,  John  !  only,  added  she,  with  hesitation  and  a  slight  blush, 
only,  if  you  perchance  meet  Earl  Sudley,  you  may  say  to  him  that  I 
charged  you  to  greet  him  in  my  name. 

Oh  !  sighed  John  Heywood  sadly. 

He  has  today  saved  my  life,  John,  said  she,  as  if  excusing  herself.  It 
becomes  me  well,  then,  to  be  grateful  to  him. 

And  giving  him  a  friendly  nod,  the  stepped  'into  the  porch  of  the 
castle. 

Now  let  any  body  say  again,  that  chance  is  not  the  most  mischievous 
and  spiteful  of  all  devils!  muttered  John  Heywood.  This  devil,  chance, 
throws  in  the  Queen's  way  the  very  person  she  ought  most  to  avoid  ; 
and  she  must  b<»,  as  in  duty  bound,  very  grateful  to  a  lover.  Oh,  oh,  so 
he  has  saved  her  life.  But  who  knows  whether  he  may  not  be  one  day 
the  cause  of  her  losing  it ! 

He  dropped  his  head  gloomily  upon  his  breast,  when  suddenly  he 
heard  behind  him  a  low  voice  calling  his  name  ;  and,  as  he  turned,  he 
saw  the  youi.g  Princess  Elizabeth  hasteniug  towards  him  with  hurried 
step. 

She  was  at  that  moment  very  beautiful.  Her  eyes  gleamed  with  the 
fire  of  passion  ;  her  cheeks  glowed;  and  about  her  crimson  lips  there 
played  a  gentle,  happy  smile.  She  wore,  according  to  the  fashion  of  the 
time,  a  close-fitting  high  necked  dress,  which  showed  off  to  perfection 
the  delicate  lines  of  her  slender  and  youthful  form,  while  the  wide  stand- 
ing collar  concealed  the  somewhat  too  great  length  of  her  neck,  and 
made  her  ruddy,  as  yet  almost  childish,  face  stand  out  as  it  were  from  a 
pedestal.  On  either  side  of  her  high,  thoughtful  brow,  fell,  in  luxurious 
profusion,  light  flaxen  curls  ;  her  head  was  covered  with  a  black  velvet 
cap,  from  which  a  white  feather  drooped  to  her  shoulders. 

She  was  altogether  a  charming  and  lovely  apparition,  full  of  noble- 
ness and  grace,  full  of  fire  and  energy  ;  and  yet  in  spite  of  her  youthful- 
ness,  not  wanting  in  a  certain  grandeur  and  dignity.  .Elizabeth,  though 
still  almost  a  child,  and  frequently  bowed  and  humbled  by  misfortune, 


102 

yefc  ever  remained  her  father's  own  daughter.  And  though  Henry  had 
declared  her  a  bastard  and  excluded  her  from  the  succession  to  the  throne, 
yet  she  bore  the  stamp  of  her  royal  blood  in  her  high,  haughly  brow,  in 
her  keen,  flashing  eye. 

As  she  now  stood  before  John  Hey  wood,  she  was  not,  however,  the 
haughty,  imperious  Princess,  but  merely  the  shy,  blushing  maiden,  who 
feared  to  entrust  her  fir^t  girlish  secret  to  another's  ear,  and  ventured 
only  with  trembling  hand  to  draw  aside  the  veil  which  concealed  her 
heart. 

John  Hey  wood,  said  she,  you  have  often  told  me  that  you  loved  me  ; 
and  I  know  that  my  poor  unfortunate  mother  trusted  you,  and  summon- 
ed you  as  a  witness  of  her  innocence.  You  could  not  at  that  time  save 
the  mother,  but  will  you  now  serve  Anne  Boleyn's  daughter,  and  be  her 
faithful  friend? 

1  will,  said  Hey  wood  solemnly,  and  as.  true  as  there  is  a  God  above 
us,  you  shall  never  find  me  a  traitor. 

1  believe  you,  John  ;  I  know  that  I  may  trust  )Ou.  Listen  then,  I  will 
now  tell  you  my  secret — a  secret  which  no  one  but  God  knows,  and  the 
betrayal  of  which  might  bring  me  to  the  scaffold.  Will  you  then  swear 
to  me,  that  you  will  never,  under  any  pretext,  and  from  any  motive  what- 
soever, betray  to  any  body,  so  much  as  a  single  word  of  what  I  am  now 
about  to  tell  you?  Will  you  swear  to  me,  never  to  entrust  this  secret 
to  any  one,  even  on  your  death-bed,  and  not  to  betray  it,  even  in  the 
confessional1? 

Now,  as  regards  that,  Princess,  said  John  with  a  laugh,  you  are  per- 
fectly safe.  I  never  go  to  confession,  for  confession  is  a  highly  spiced  dish 
of  popery  on  which  1  long  since  spoilt  my  stomach  ;  and  as  concerns  my 
death  bed,  one  cannot,  under  the  blessed  and  pious  reign  of  Henry  the 
Eighth,  altogether  know  whether  he  will  be  really  a  participant  of  any 
thing  of  the  kind,  or  whether  he  may  not  make  a  far  more  speedy  and 
convenient  trip  into  eternity  by  the  aid  of  the  hangman. 

Oh,  be  serious,  John — do,  I  pray  you  !  Let  the  fool's  mask,  under 
which  you  hide  your  sober  and  honest  face,  not  hide  it  from  me  also. 
Be  serious,  John,  and  swear  to  me  that  you  will  keep  my  secret. 

Well  then,  I  swear,  Princess  ;  I  swear  by  your  mother's  spirit  to  be- 
tray not  a  word  of  what  you  are  going  to  tell  me. 

I  thank  you,  John.  Now  lean  this  way  nearer  to  me,  lest  the  breeze 
may  catch  a  single  word  of  mine  and  bear  it  farther.     John, — I  love ! 

She  saw  the  half  surprised,  half-incredulous  smile  which  played  around 
John  Heywood's  lips.  Oh,  continued  she  passionately,  you  believe  me 
not.  You  consider  my  fourteen  years,  and  you  think  the  child  knows 
nothing  yet  of  a  maiden's  feelings.  But  remember,  John,  that  those 
girls  who  live  under  a  warm  sun  are  early  ripened  by  his  glowing  rays, 
and  are  already  wives  and  mothers  when  they  should  still  be  dreaming 
children.  Well  now,  I  too  am  the  daughter  of  a  torrid  zone,  only  mine 
has  not  been  the  sun  of  prosperity,  and  it  has  been  sorrow  and  misfor- 
tune which  have  matured  my  heart.     Believe  me,  John,  I  love  !    A 


1UJ 

glowing,  consuming  fire  rages  within  me;  it  is  at  once  my  delight  and 
my  misery,  my  happiness  and  my  future. 

The  King  has  robbed  me  of  a  brilliant  and  glorious  future  ;  let  them, 
not  thtm  begrudge  me  a  happy  one  at  least.  Since  I  am  never  to  be  a 
queen,  I  will  at  least  be  a  happy  and  beloved  wife.  If  1  am  condemned 
ti)  live  in  obscurity  and  lowliness,  at  the  very  least  I  must  not,  be  prohi- 
bited from  adorning  this  obscure  and  inglorious  existence  with  flowers, 
which  thrive  not  at  the.  foot  of  the  throne  ;  and  to  illurfiinate  if,  with  stars 
more  sparkling  than  the  refulgence  of  the  most  radiant  kingly  crown. 

Oh.  you  are  mistaken  about  your  own  self!  said  John  Heywood  sor 
rowfully.  You  chose  the  one  only  because  the  other  is  dented.  You 
would  love  only  because  you  cannot  rule,  and  since  your  heart,  which 
thirsts  for  fame  and  honor,  can  find  no  other  satisfaction,  you  would 
quench  its  thirst  with  some  other  draught,  and  would  administer  love  as 
an  opiate  to  lull  to  rest  its  burning  pains.  Believe  me,  Princess,  you 
do  not  yet  know  yourself!  You  were  not  born  to  be  merely  a  loving 
wife  ;  and  your  brow  is  much  to  high  and  haughty  to  wear  only  a  crown 
of  myrtle!  Therefore,  consider  well  what  you  do,  Princess!  Be  not 
carried  away  by  your  father's  passionate  blood,  which  boils  in  your  veins 
also  Think  well  before  you  act.  Your  foot  is  yet  on  one  of  the  steps 
to  the  throne.  Draw  it  not  back  voluntarily  !  Maintain  your  position  ; 
then,  the  next  step  brings  you  again  one  stair  higher  up.  Do  not  vol- 
untarily renounce  your  just  claim,  but  abide  in  patience  the  coming  of 
the  da\  of  retribution  and  justice.  Only  do  not  yourself  make  it  impos- 
sible, tliat  there  may  then  be  a  full  and  glorious  reparation.  Princess 
Elizabeth  may  yet  one  day  be  Queen,  provided  she  has  not  exchanged 
her  name  for  one  less  glorious  and  noble. 

John  Heywood,  said  she  .with  a  bewitching  smile,  I  have  told  you,  I 
<  love  him. 

Well,  love  him  as  much  as  you  please,  but  do  it  in  silence,  and  tell 
him  not  of  it;  but  teach  your  love  resignation. 

John,  he  knows  it  already  ! 

Ah,  poor  Princess,  you  are  still  but  a  child,  that  sticks  its  hands  in 
the  fire  with  smiling  bravery  and  scorches  them,  because  it  knows  not 
that  fire  burns. 

Let  it  burn,  John,  burn  !  and  let  the  flames  curl  over  my  head.  Bet- 
ter be  consumed  in  fire  than  perish  slowly  and  horribly  with  a  deadly 
chill  !     I  love  him,  I  tell  you,  and  he  already  kuows  it. 

Well  then  love  him,  but  at  least  do  not  marry  him  !  cried  John  Hey- 
wood surlily. 

Marry  !  cried  she  with  astonishment.    Marry  !   1  had  never  thought  of  it. 

She  dropped  her  head  upon  her  breast;  and  stood  there  silent  and 
thoughtful. 

I  am  much  afraid  I  made  a  blunder  then  !  muttered  John  Heywood. 
I  have  suggested  a  new  thought  to  her.  Ah,  ah,  King  Henry  has  done 
well  in  appointing  me  his  fool.  Just  when  we  deem  ourselves  the  wise- 
eat,  we  are  the  greatest  fools  ! 


104 

John,  said  Elizabeth,  as  she  raised  her  head  again,  and  smiled  to  him 
in  a  glow  of  excitement,  John,  you  are  entirely  right;  if  we  love,  we 
must  marry. 

But  (  said  just  the  contrary,  Princess!  » 

All  right!  said  she  resolutely.  All  this  belongs  to  the  future;. we 
will  busy  ourselves  with  the  present.  I  have  promised  my  lover  an  in- 
terview. 

An  interview  !  cried  John  TIeywood  in  amazement.  You  will  not  be 
so  fool  hardy  as  to  keep  your  promise? 

John  Hey  wood,  said  she,  with  an  air  of  approaching  solemnity,  King 
Henry's  daughter  will  never  make  a  promise  without  fulfilling  it.  For 
better  or  for  worse  1  will  always  keep  my  plighted  word,  even  if  the 
greatest  misery  and  ruin  were  the  result. 

John  Hey  wood  ventured  t©  offer  no  further  opposition.  There  was 
at  this  moment  something  peculiarly  lofty,  proud  and  truly  royal  in  her 
air,  which  impressed  him  with  awe,  and  before  which  he  bowed. 

I  have  granted  him  an  interview  because  he  wished  it,  said  Elizabeth, 
and,  John,  I  will  confess  it  to  you,  my  own  heart  longed  for  it.  Seek 
not,  then,  to  shake  ray  resolution  ;  it  is  as  firm  as  a  rock.  But  if  you 
are  not  willing  to  stand  by  me,  say  so  ;  and  I  will  then  look  about 
me  for  another  friend,  who  loves  me  enough  to  impose  silence  on  his 
thoughts. 

But  who,  perhaps,  will  go  and  betray  you.  No,  no,  it  has  been  once 
resolved  upon  and  unalterably;  so  no  one  but  I  must  be  your  confidant. 
Tell  me,  then,  what  I  am  to  do,  and  I  will  obey  you. 

You  know,  John,  that  my  apartments  are  situated  in  yonder  wing, 
overlooking  the  garden.  Well,  in  my  dressing-room,  behind  one  of  the 
large  wall  pictures,  I  have  discovered  a  door^  leading  into  a  lonely,  dark 
corridor.  From  this  corridor  there  is  a  passage  up  into  yonder  tower. 
It  is  dnoccupied  and  deserted.  Nobody  ever  thinks  of  entering  that  part 
of  the  castle;  and  the  quiet  of  the  grave  reigns  throughout  those  apart- 
ments, which  nevertheless  are  furnished  with  a  magnificence  truly  regal. 
There  will  I  receive  him  ! 

But  how  shall  he  make  his  way  thither  ? 

Oh,  do  not  be  concerned,  I  have  thought  over  that  many  days  siace ; 
and  while  I  was  refusing  my  lover  the  interview  for  which  he  again  and 
again  implored  me.  I  was  quietly  preparing  everything  so  as  to  be  able 
one  day  to  grant  it  to  him.  To-day  this  object  is  attained,  and  to-day 
have  I  fulfilled  his  wish,  voluntarily  and  unasked  ;  for  I  saw  he  had  no 
more  courage  to  ask  again.  Listen,  then.  From  the  tower,  a  spiral 
staircase  leads  down  to  a  small  door,  through  which  you  gain  entrance 
into  the  garden.  1  have  a  key  to  this  door.  Here  it  is.  Once  in  pos- 
session of  this  key,  he  has  nothing  further  to  do  but  remain  behind  in 
the  park  this  evening,  instead  of  leaving  the  castle ;  and  by  means  of  this, 
he  will  come  to  me ;  for  I  will  wait  for  him  in  the.  tower — in  the 
large  room  directly  opposite  the  staircase  landing.  Here,  take  the  key  j 
give  it  to  him,  and  repeat  to  him  all  that  I  have  said. 


105 

Well,  Princess!  there  remains  for  you  now  only  to  appoint  the  hour 
at  which  you  will  receive  him  there. 

The  hour,  said  she,  as  she  turned  away  her  blushing  face.  You  under- 
stand,  John,  that  it  is  not  feasible  to  receive  him  there  by  day,  because 
there  is  by  day  not  a  single  moment  in  which  I  am  not  watched. 

You  will  then  receive  him  by  night!  said  John  Hey  wood  sadly.  At 
what  hour? 

At  midnight !  And  now  you  know  all ;  and  I  beg  you,  John,  hasten 
and  carry  him  my  message  ;  for,  look,  the  sun  is  setting,  and  it  will  soon 
be  night. 

She  nodded  to  him  with  a  smile  and  turned  to  go. 

Princess,  you  have  forgotten  the  most  important  point.  You  have 
not  yet  told  me  his  name. 

My  God  !  and  you  do  not  guess  it?  John  II ey wood,  who  has  such 
sharp  eyes,  sees  not  that  there  is  at  this  Court  but  a  single  one  who  do- 
serves  to  be  loved  by  a  daughter  of  th§  King ! 

And  the  name  of  this  single  one  is? 

Thomas  Seymour,  Earl  of  Sudley  !  whispered  Elizabeth  as  she  turned 
away  quickly  and  entered  the  castle. 

Oh,  Thomas  Seymour !  said  John  Heywood,  utterly  astounded.  As 
if  paralyzed  with  horror,  he  stood  there  motionless,  staring  up  at  the 
sky  and  repeating  over  and  over,  Thomas  Seymour!  Th'omas  Seymour! 
So  he  is  a  sorcerer  who  administers  a  love- potion  to  all  the  women,  and 
befools  them  with  his  handsome,  saucy  face.'  Thomas  Seymour !  The 
Queen  loves  him  ;  the  Princess  loves  him  ;  and  then  there  is  this  Duch- 
ess of  Richmond,  who  will  by  all  means  be  his  wife!  This  much  how- 
ever is  certain,  he  is  a  traitor  who  deceives  both,  because  to  both  he  has 
made  the  same  confession  of  love.  And  there  again  Is  that  imp,  chance, 
which  compels  me  to  be  the  confidant  of  both  these  women.  But  I 
will  be  well  on  my  guard  against  executing  both  my  commissions  to 
this  sorcerer.  Let  him  at  any  rate  become  the  husband  of  the  Princess  ; 
perhaps  this  would  be  the  surest  means  of  freeing  the  Queen  from  her 
unfortunate  love. 

He  was  silent  and  still  gazed  up  thoughtfully  at  the  sky.  Yes,  s'aid 
he  then,  quite  cheerfully,  thus  shall  it  be.  I  will  combut  the  one  love 
with  the  other.  For  the  Queen  to  love  jiim,  is  dangerous.  I  will  there- 
fore so  conduct  matters,  that  she  must  hate  him.  I  will  remain  her  con- 
fidant. I  will  receive  her  letters  and  her  commissions,  but  I  will  burn 
her  letters  and  not  execute  her  commissions.  I  am  not  at  liberty  to 
tell  her  that  the  faithless  Thomas  Seymour  is  false  to  her,  for  I  have 
solemnly  pledged  my  word  to  the  Princess  never  to  breathe  her  secret 
to  any  one  ;  and  I  will  and  must  keep  my  word.  Smile  and  love  then  ; 
dream  on  thy  sweet  dream  of  love,  Queen  ;  I  wake  for  thee  ;  I  will 
cause  the  dark  cloud  resting  on  thee  to  pass  by.  It  may,  perhaps,  touch 
thine  heart;  but  thy  noble  and  beautiful  head — that  at  least  it  shall  not 
be  allowed  to  crush  ;  that 

Now  then,  what  are  you  staring  up  at  the  sky  for,  as  if  you  read 


J  Ob- 
there  a  new  epigram  with  which  to  make  the  King  laugh,  and  the  par- 
sons rave?  asked  a  voice  near  him;  and  a  hand  was  laid  heavily  on 
his  shoulder. 

John  Hey  wood  did  not  look  round  at  all  \  he  remained  in  the  same 
attitude,  gazing  up  steadily  at  the  sky.  He  had  very  readily  recog- 
nized the  voice  of  him  who  had  addressed  him  ;  he  knew  very  well  that 
he  who  stood  near  him  was  no  other  than  the  bold  sorcerer,  whom  he 
was  just  then  cursing  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart ;  no  other  than  Thomas 
Seymour,  Earl  of  Sudley. 

Say,  John,  is  it  really  an  epigram?  asked  Thomas  Seymour  again. 
An  epigram  on  the  hypocritical,  lustful  and  sanctimonious  priestly  rab- 
ble, that  with  blasphemous  hypocrisy  fawn  about  the  King,  and  are  ever 
watching  how  they  can  set  a  trap  for  one  of  us  honorable  and  brave  men  ! 
Is  that  what  heaven  is  now  revealing  to  you? 

No,  my  Lord,  I  am  only  looking  at  a  hawk  which  hovers  about  there 
in  the  clouds.  I  saw  him  mount,  Earl,  and  only  think  of  the  wonder  ; 
he  had  in  each  talon  a  dove.  Two  doves  for  one  hawk.  Is  not  that  too 
much — wholly  contrary  to  law  and  nature? 

The  Earl  cast  on  him  a  penetrating  and  distrustful  look.  But  John 
Hey  wood,  remaining  perfectly  calm  and  unembarrassed,  continued  look 
iug  at  the  clouds. 

H'ow  stupid  Such  a  brute  is,  and  how  much  to  his  disadvantage  will 
his  very  greediness  be.  For  since  he  holds  a  dove  in  each  claw,  he  will 
not  be  able  to  enjoy  either  of  them  ;  because  he  has  no  claw  at  liberty 
with  which  to  tear  them.  Soon  as  he  wishes  to  enjoy  the  one,  the  other 
will  escape  ;  when  he  grabs  after  that,  the  other  flies  away  ;  and  so  at 
last  he  will  ha've  nothing  at  all,  because  he  was  too  rapacious  and  want- 
ed more  than  he  could  use. 

And  you  are  looking  after  this  hawk  in  the  skies?  But  you  are  per- 
haps mistaken,  and  he  whom  you  seek  is  not  above  thereat  all,  but  here 
below,  and  perchance  quite  close  to  you?  asked  Thomas  Seymour  sig- 
nificantly. 

But  John  Heywood  would  not  understand  him. 

Nay,  said  he,  he  still  flies,  but  it  will  nod  last  long.     Eor  verily  I  saw 
'  the  owner  of  the  dovecot  from  which  the  hawk  has  stolen  the  two  doves. 
He  had  a  weapon  ;  and  he,  be  y^e  sure  of  it — he  will  kill  this  hawk,  be 
cause  he  has  robbed  him  of  his  pet  doves.  , 

Enough,  enough !  cried  the  Earl  impatiently.  You  would  give  me  a 
lesson,  but  you  must  know  I  take  no  counsel  from  a  fool,  even  were  he 
the  wisest. 

In  that  you  are  right,  my  Lord,  for  only  fools  are  so  foolish  as  to 
hearken  to  the  voice  of  wisdom.  Besides  each  man  forges  his  own  for- 
tune. And  now,  wise  sir,  I  will  give  you  a  key,  which  you  yourself 
have  forged,  and  behind  which  lies  your  fortune.  There,  take  this  key ; 
and  if  you  at  midnight  slip  through  the  garden  to  the  tower  over  yon- 
der, this  key  will  open  to  you  the  door  of  the  same,  and  you  can  then 
without  hesitation  mount  the  spiral  staircase  and  open  the  door  which  is 


hi: 

opposite  the  staircase.  Behind  that  you  will  finch  the  fortune  which  yoa 
have  forged  for  yourself,  sir  blacksmith,  and  which  will  bid  you  welcome 
with  warm  lips  and  soft  arms.  And  so  commending  you  to  God,  I  must 
hasten  home  to  th!*nk  over  the  comedy  which  the  King  has  commanded 
me  to  write. 

But  you  do  not  so  much  as  tell  me  from  whom  this  message  comes  l 
said  Earl  Sudley,  retaining  him.  You  invite  me  to  a  meeting  and  yive 
me  a  key,  and  1  know  not  who  will  await  me  there  in  that  tower. 

Oh,  you  do  not  know  ?  There  is  then  more  than  one  who  might  await 
you  there?  Well  then,  it  is  the  youngest  and  smallest  of  the  two  doves 
who  sends  you  the  key. 

Princess  Elizabeth  J 

You  have  named  her,  not  I!  said  John  Hey  wood  as  he  disengaged 
himself  from  the  Earl's  grasp  and  hurried  across  the  Court  yard  to  be 
take  himself  to  his  lodgings. 

Thomas  Seymour  watched  him  with  a  scowl,  and  then  slowly  directed 
his  eyes  to  the  key  that  Heywood  had  given  him. 

The  Princess  then  awaits  me,  whispered  he  softly.  Ah,  who  can  read 
it  in  the  stars;  who  can  know  whither  the  cro  n  will  roll  when  it  tum- 
bles from  King  Henry's  head.  I  love  Catherine,  but  I  love  ambition 
still  more  ;  and  if  it  is  demanded,  to  ambition  must  I  sacrifice  my  heart. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

GAMMER    GURTOn's    NEEDLE. 

Slowly  and  lost  in  gloomy  thought,  John  Heywood  walked' towards 
his  lodgings.  These  lodgings  were  situated  in  the  second  or  inner  court 
of  the  vast  palace  of  Whitehall ;  in  that  wing  of  the  castle  which  con- 
tained the  apartments  of  all  the  higher  officers  of  the  royal  household, 
and  so  those  of  the  Court-jesters  also  ;  for  the  King's  fool  was  at  that 
period  a  very  important  and  respectable  personage,  who  occupied  a  rank 
equal  to  that  of  a  gentleman  of  the  royal  bed-chamber. 

John  Heywood  had  just  crossed  this  second  court-yard,  when  all  at 
once  loud  wrangling  voices,  and  the  clear  peculiar  ring  of  a  box. on  the 
ear,  startled  him  out  of  his  meditations. 

He  stopped  and  listened. 

His  face,  before  60  serious,  had  now  re  assumed  its  usual  merry  and 
shrewd  expression;  his  large  eyes  again  glittered  with  humor  and  mis- 
chief. 

There  again  verily  is  my  sweet,  charming  housekeeper,  Gammer  Gur- 


I0£ 

ton,  said  John  Hey  wood  laughing;  and  she  no  doubt  is  quarreling  again 
with,  my  excellent  servant,  that  poor,  long-legged,  blear-eyed  Hodge. 
Ah !  ha !  Yesterday  I  surprised  her  as  she  applied  a  kiss  to  him,  at 
which  he  made  as  doleful  a  face  as  if  a  bee  had  stung  him.  To-day  I 
hear  how  she  is  boxing  his  ears.  He  is  perhaps  now  laughing  at  it,  and 
thinks  it  is  a  rose-leaf  which  cools  his  cheek.  That  Hodge  is  such  a 
queer  bird!  But  we  will  at  once  see' what  there  is  today,  and  what 
farce  is  being  performed  now. 

He  crept  softly  up  the  stairs,  and  opening  the  door  of  his  room,  closed 
it  again  behind  him  quickly  and  gently. 

Gammer  Gurton,  who  was  in  the  room  adjoining,  had  heard  nothing, 
seen  nothing  ;  and  had  the  heavens  come  tumbling  down  at  that  moment, 
she  would  have  scarcely  noticed  it ;  fur  she  had  eyes  and  sense  only  for 
this  long,  lank  lackey  who  stood  before  her  shaking  with  fear,  and  star- 
ing at  her  out  of  his  great  bluish-white  eyes.  Her  whole  soul  lay  in  her 
tongue  ;  and  her  tongue  ran  as  fast  as  a  mill-wheel  and  with  the  force  of 
thunder. 

How  then  could  Gammer  Gurton  well  have  time  and  ears  to  hear  her 
master,  who  had  softly  entered  his  chamber  and  softly  crept  to  the  door, 
only  half  closed,  which  separated  his  room  from  that  of  the  house- 
keeper. 

How !  screamed  Gammer  Gurton,  you  silly  ragamuffin,  you  wish  to 
make  me  believe  that  it  was  the  cat  that  ran  away  with  my  sewing 
needle,  as  if  my  sewing  needle  were  a  mouse  and  smelt  of  bacon,  you 
stupid  blear-eyed  fool ! 

Ah,  you  call  me  a  fool,  cried  Hodge  with  a  laugh,  which  caused 
his  mouth  to  describe  a  graceful  line  across  his  face  from  ear  to  ear ; 
you  call  me  a  fool,  and  that  is  a  great  honor  for  me,  for  then  I  am  a  ser- 
vant worthy  of  my  master.  And  as  to  being  blear-eyed,  that  must  be 
caused  by  the  simple  fact  that  1  have  nothing  all  day  long  before  my 
eyes  but  you,  Gammer  Gurton — you  with  your  face  like  a  full  moon — 
you  sailing  through  the  room  like  a  frigate,  and  with  your  grappling- 
irons,  your  hands,  smashing  to  pieces  everything  except  your  own  look- 
ing-glass. 

You  shall  pay  me  for  that,  you  double-faced,  thread-bare  lout!  scream- 
ed Gammer  Gurton,  as  she  rushed  on  Hodge  with  clenched  fist. 

But  John  Hey  wood's  cunning  servant  had  anticipated  this ;  he  had 
already  slipped  under  the  large  table  which  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
room.  As  the  house-keeper  now  made  a  plunge  to  drag  him  out  of  his 
extemporary  fortress,  he  gave  her  such  a  hearty  pinch  on  the  leg,  that 
she  sprang  back  with  a  scream,  and  sank,  wholly  overcome  by  the  pain, 
into  the  huge,  leather-covered  elbow-chair  which  was  near  her  workstand 
at  the  window. 

You  are  a  monster,  Hodge,  groaned  she,  exhausted.  A  heartless,  hor- 
rible monster.  You  have  stolen  my  sewing  needle — you  only.  For  you 
knew  very  well  that  it  was  my  last  one,  and  that  if  I  have  not  that^I 
must  go  at  once  to  the  shop-keeper  to  buy  some  needles.     And  that  is 


100 

just  what  you  want,  you  weather  cock,  you.     You  only  want  me  to  go 
out,  that  you  may  have  an  opportunity  to  play  with  Tib. 

Tib?  Who  is  Tib?  asked  Hodge  as  he  stretched  out  his  long  neck 
from  under  the  table,  and  stared  at  Gammer  Gurton  with  well  assumed 
astonishment. 

Now  this  otter  wants  me  yet  to  tell  him  who  Tib  is !  screamed  the 
exasperated  Dame.  Well  then,  I  will  tell  you.  Tib  is  the  cook  of  the 
Major  Domo  over  there — a  black-eyed,  false,  coquettish  little  devil, 
who  is  bad  and  mean  enough  to  troll  away  the  lover  of  an  honest  and 
virtuous  woman,  as  I  am  ;  a  lover  who  is  such  a  pitiful  little  thing  that 
one  would  think  no  one  but  myself  could  find  him  out  and  see  him  ; 
nor  could  I  have  done  it  had  1  not  now  for  forty  years  trained  my  eyes 
to  the  search,  and  for  forty  years  looked  around  for  the  man  who  was  at 
lengih  to  marry  me,  and  make  me  a  respectable  mistress.  Since  my 
eyes  then  were  at  last  .steadily  fixed  on  this  phantom  of  man,  and  I 
found  nothing  there,  I  finally  discovered  you,  you  cobweb  of  a  man  ! 

What!  you  call  me  a  cobweb?  screamed  Hodge  as  he  crept  from 
under  the  table  and  drawing  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  placed  him- 
self threateningly  in  front  of  Gammer  Gurton's  elbow  chair.  You  call 
me  a  cobweb  ?  Now  f'swear  to  you  that  you  shall  henceforth  never 
more  be  the  spider  that  dwells  in  that  web.  For  you  are  a  garden-spi- 
der, an  abominable,  dumpy,  old  garden-spider,  for  whom  a  web,  such  as 
Hodge  is,  is  much  too  fine  and  much  too  elegant.  Be  quiet,  therefore, 
old  spider,  and  spin  your  net  elsewhere !  You  shall  not  live  in  my  net, 
but  Tib — for,  yes,  1  do  know  Tib.  She  is  a  lovely,  charming  child 
of  fourteen,  as  quick  and  nimble  as  a  kid,  with  lips  red  as  the  coral  which 
you  wear  on  your  fat  pudding  of  a  nec*k,  with  eyes  which  shine  yet 
brighter  than  your  nose,  and  with  a  figure  so  slender  and  graceful  that  she 
might  have  been- carved  out  of  one  of  your  fingers.  Yes,  yes,  I  know 
Tib.  She  is  an  affectionate,  good  child,  who  would  never  be  so  hard 
hearted  as  to  abuse  the  man  she  loves,  and  could  not  be  so  mean  and 
pitiful,  even  in  thought,  as  to  wish  to  marry  the  man  she  did  not  love, 
just  because  he  is  a  man.  Yes,  I  know  Tib,  and. now  1  will  go  straight 
to  her  and  ask  her  if  she  will  marry  a  good,  honest  lad,  who,  to  be  sure, 
is  somewhat  lean,  but  who  doubtless  will  become  fatter  if  he  has  any 
other  fare  than  the  meagre,  abominable  stuff  on  which  Gammer  Gurton 
feeds  him  ;  a  lad  who,  to  be  sure,  is  blear-eyed,  but  will  soon  get  over 
that  disease  when  he  no  more  sees  Gammer  Gurton,  who  acts  on  his 
eyes  like  a  stinking  onion,  and  makes  them  always  red  aud  running 
water.     Good-bye,  old  onion,  I  am  going  to  Tib. 

But,  Gammer  Gurton  whirled  up  out  of  her  elbow-chair  like  a  top,  and 
was  upon  Hodge,  whom  she  held  by  the  coat  tail,  and  brought  him  to  a 
stand. 

You  dare  go  to  Tib  again  !  You  dare  pass  that  door  and  you  shall 
ace  that  the  gentle,  peaceable  and  patient  Gammer  Gurton  is  changed 
iuto  a  lioness,  when  any  one  tries  to  tear  from  her  that  most  sacred  and 


J 10 

dearest  of  treasures,  her  husband.  For  you  are  my  husband,  inasmuch 
as  [  have  your  word  that  you  will  marry  me. 

But  I  have  not  told  you  when  and  where  I  will  do  it,  Gammer  Gur- 
ton  ;  and  so  you  can  wait  to.  all  eternity,  for  only  in  heaven  will  I  be 
your  husband. 

That  is  an  abominable,  malicious  lie  !  screamed  Gammer  Gurton.  A 
good  for  nothing  lie,  say  I !  For  did  you  not  long  ago  snivel  and  beg 
till  I  was  forced  to  promise  you  to  make  a  will,  and  in  it  declare  Hodge, 
my  beloved  husband,  sole  heir  of  all  my  goods  and  chattels,  and  be- 
queath to  him  everything  I  have  scraped  together  in  my  virtuous  and 
industrious  life? 

But  you  did  not  make  it, — the  will.  You  broke  your  word  j  and, 
therefore,  I  will  do  the  same. 

Yes,  I  have  made  it,  you  greyhound.  1  have  made  it ;  and  this  very- 
day  I  was  going  with  you  to  the  justice  of  the  peace  and  have  it  signed, 
and  then  to-morrow  we  would  have  got  married. 

You  have  made  the  will,  you  round  world  of  love?  said  Hodge  ten- 
derly, as  with  his  long,  withered,  spindling  arms  he  tried  to  clasp  the 
gigantic  waist  of  his  beloved.  You  have  made  the  will  and  declared 
me  your  heir?  Come,  then,  Gammer  Gurtfjn,  .conie,  let  us  go  to  the 
justice  of  the  peace! 

But  do  you  not  see,  then,  said  Gammer  Gurton,  with  a  tender  cat-like 
purr,  do  you  not  see,  then,  that  you  rumple  my  frill  when  you  hug  me  so  ? 
Let  me  go,  then,  and  help  me  find  my  needle  quickly,  for  without  the 
needle  we  cannot  go  to  the  justice  of  the  peace. 

What,  without  the  needle  not  go  to  the  justice  of  the  peace? 

No  ;  for  only  see  this  hole  wnich  Gib,  the  cat,  tore  in  my  prettiest 

cap  awhile  ago,  as  I  took  the  cap  out  of  the  box  and  laid  it  on  the  table. 

"  Indeed  I  cannot  go  to  the  justice  of  the  peace  with  such  a  hole  in  my  cap  ! 

Search  then,  Hodge,  search,  so  that  I  can  mend  my  cap,  and  go  with 

you  to  the  justice  of  the  peace  ! 

Lord  God,  where  in  the  world  can  it  be,  the  unlucky  needle  !  I  must 
have  it,  I  must  find  it,  so  that  Gammer  Gurton  may  take  her  will  to  the 
justice  of  the  peace! 

And  in  frantic  desperation,  Hodge  searched  all  about  on  the  floor  for 
the  lost  needle,  and  Gammer  Gurton  stuck  her  large  spectacles  on  her 
flaming  red  nose  and  peered  about  on  the  table.  So  eager  was  she  in 
the  search,  that  she  even  let  her  tongue  rest  a  little,  and  deep  silence 
reigned  in  the  room. 

Suddenly  this  silence  was  broken  by  a  voice,  which  seemed  to  come 
from  the  court  yard.  It  was  a  soft,  sweet  voice  that  cried  :  Hodge, 
dear  Hodge,  are  you  there?  Come  to  me  in  the  cotirt,  only  for  a  few 
minutes !     I  want  to  have  a  bit  of  a  laugh  with  you  ! 

It  was  as  though  an  electric  shock  had  passed  through  the  room  with 
that  voice,  and  struck  at  the  9ame  time  both  Gammer  Gurton  and 
Hodge. 


Ill 

Both  startled,  and  discontinuing  the  search,  stood  there  wholly  im- 
movable, as  if  petrified. 

Hodge  especially,  poor  Hodge,  was  aS  if  struck  l\\  lightning.  His  great 
bluish-w.hite  eyes  appeared  to  be  coming  out  ot  their  sockets;  his 
lung  arms  hung  down,  flapping  and  dangling  about  like  a  flail  ;  his  knees, 
half  bent,  seemed  already  to  be  giving  way  in  expectation  of  the  ap- 
proaching storm.  ' 

This  storm  did  not  in  fact  make  him  wait  long. 

That  is  Tib!  screamed  Gammer  Gurton,  springing  like  a  lioness 
upon  Hodge  and  seizing  him  by  the  shoulders  with  both  her  hands. 
That  is  Tib,  you  thtead-like,  pitiful  greyhound  !  Well,  was  J  not  right, 
now,  when  I  called  you  a  faithless,  good  for  nothing  scamp,  that  spares 
not  innocence,  and  breaks  the  hearts  of  the.  women  a<  he.  would  a  crack- 
er, which  he  swallows  down  at  his  pleasure  1  Was  I  not  right,  in  say- 
ing that  you  were  only  watching  for  me  to  go  out  in  order  to  go  aud 
sport  with  Tib? 

Hodge,  my  dear,  darling  Hodge,  cried  the  voice  beneath  there,  and 
this  time  louder  and  more  tender  than  before.  Hodge,  oh  come,  do 
now,  come  to  me  in  the  court,  as  you  promised  me  ;  come  and  get  the 
kiss  for  which  you  begged  me  this  morning  ! 

I  will  be  a  damned  otter,  if  I  begged  her  for  it,  and  if  I  understand  a 
single  word  of  what  she  says,  said  Hodge,  wholly  dumbfounded  and 
quaking  all  over. 

Ah,  you  understand  not  a  word  of  what  she  says  ?  screamed  Gam- 
mer Gurton.  Well,  but  I  understand  it.  I  understand  that  everything 
between  us  is  past  and  done  with,  and  that  I  have  nothing  more  to  do 
with  you,  you  Moloch  you.  I  understand  that  I  shall  not  go  and  make 
my  will,  to  become  your  wife  and  fret  myself  to  death  over  this  skele- 
ton of  a  husband,  that  J  may  leave  you  to  chuckle  as  my  heir.  No, 
no,  it  is  past.  I  am  not  going  to  the  justice  of  the  peace,  and  I  will 
tear  up  my  will ! 

Oh,  she  is  going  to  tear  up  her  wMll  !  howled  Hodge ;  and  then  I 
have  tormented  myself  in  vain  ;  in  vain  have  endured  the  horrible  luck 
of  being  loved  by  this  old  owl  !  Oh,  "oh,  she  will  nor,  make  her  will, 
and  Hodge  will  remain  the  same  miserable  dog  he  always  wm. 

Gammer  Gurton  laughed  scornfully.  Ah,  you  are  aware  at  last  what 
a  pitiful  wretch  you  are,  and  how  much  a  noble  and  handsome  person, 
as  I  am,  lowered  herself  when  she  made  up  her  mind  to  pick  up  such  a 
weed  and  make  him  her  husband. 

Yes,  )es,  I  know  it!  whined  Hodge;  and  [  pray  you  pick  me  up  and 
take  me,  and  above  all  things  make  your  will  ! 

No.  I  will  iipt  take  you,  and  I  shall  not  make  my  will  !  It  is  all  over 
with,  I  tell  you  ;  and  now  you  can  go  as  soon  as  you  please  to  Tib,  who 
has  called  you  so  lovin»ly.  But  first  give  me  back  my  sewing-needle, 
you  magpie,  you!  •  Give  me  here  my  sewing-needle,  which  you  have 
stolen.  It  is  of  no  use.  to  you  now,  for  it  is  not  necessary  tor  me  t<» 
go  out  in  order  lhat*you  may  go  and  see  Tib.     Wc  have,  nothing  more 


119 

to  do  with  each  other,  and  you  can  go  where  you  wish.  My  sewing- 
needle,  say  1 — my  needle,  or  I  will  hang  you  up  as  a  scarecrow  in  my 
pea  patch,  to  frighten  the  sparrow's  out  of  it.     My  sewing-needle,  or 

She  shook  her  clenched  fist  threateningly  at  Hodge,  fully  convinced 
that  now,  as  always  before,  Hodge  would  retreat  before  this  menacing 
weapon  of  his  jealous  and  irritable  ladylove,  and  seek  safety  under  the 
bed  or  the  table. 

This  time,  however,  she  Was  mistaken.  Hodge,  who  saw  thaj  all  was 
lost,  felt  that  his  patience  was  at  length  exhausted ;  and  his  timidity 
was  now  changed  to  the  madness  of  despair.  The  lamb  was  trans- 
formed into#a  tiger,  and  with  a  tiger's  rage  he  pounced  upon  Gammer 
Gurton,  and  throwing  aside  her  fist,  he  dealt  her  a  good  sound  blow  on 
the  cheek. 

The  signal  was  given,  and  the  battle  begun.  It  was  waged  by  both 
sides  with  equal  animosity  and  equal  vigor;  only  Hodge's  bony  hand 
made  by  far  the  most  telling  blows  on  Gammer  Gurton's  mass  of  flesh, 
and  was  always  certain,  wherever  he  struck,  to  hit  some  spot  of  this 
huge  mass  ;  while  Gammer  Gurton's  soft  hand  seldom  touched  that  thin, 
thread  like  figure,  which  dexterously  parried  every  blow. 

Stop,  you  fools  !  suddenly  shouted  a  stentorian  voice.  See  you  not, 
you  goblins,  that  your  lord  and  master  is  here?  Peace,  peace  then, 
you  devils,  and  do  not  be  hammering  away  at  one  another,  but  love 
each  other. 

It  is  the  master !  exclaimed  Gammer  Gurton,  lowering  her  fist  in  the 
utmost  contrition. 

Do  not  turn  me  away,  sir,  moaned  Hodge ;  do  not  dismiss  me  from 
your  service^  because  at  last  I  have  for  once  given  the  old  hag  a  good 
bruising.  She  has  deserved  it  a  long  time,  and  an  angel  himself  must 
at  last  lose  patience  with  her. 

I  turn  you  out  of  my  service  ?  exclaimed  John  Hey  wood  as  he  wiped 
his  eyes,  wet  with  laughing.  No,  Hodge,  you  are  a  real  jewel,  a  mine 
of  fun  and  merriment ;  and  you  two  have,  without  knowing  it,  fur- 
nished me  with  the  choicest  materials  for  a  piece  which,  by  the  King's 
order,  I  have  to  write  within  six  days.  I  owe  you,  then,  many  thanks, 
and  will  show  my  gratitude  forthwith.  Listen  well  to  me,  my  amo- 
rous and  tender  Ppair  of  turtle  doves,  and  mark  what  I  have  to  say  to 
you.  One  cannot  always  tell  the  wolf  by  his  hide,  for  he  sometimes 
puts  on  a  sheep's  skin  ;  and  so,  too,  a  man  cannot  always  be  recognized 
by  his  voice,  for  he  sometimes  borrows  that  of  his  neighbor.  Thus, 
for  example,  I  know  a  certain  John  Heywood,  who  can  mimic  exactly 
the  voice  of  a  certain  little  miss  named  Tib,  and  knows  -how  to  warble 
as  sweetly  as  she  herself:  "Hodge,  my  dear  Hodge!"     • 

And  he  repeated  to  them  exactly,  and  with  the  same  tone  and  expres- 
sion, the  words  that  the  voice  had  previously  cried. 

Ah,  it  was  you,  sir1?  cried  Hodge  with  a  broad  grin— that  Tib  in  the 
court  there,  that  Tib  about  whom  we  have  been  piimmeling  each  other"? 

I  was  that  Tib,  Hodge — I  who  was  present  during  the  whole  of  your 


113 

quarrel,  and  found  it  hugely  comical  to  send  Tib's  voice  thundering  into 
the  midst  of  your  lovers'  quarrel,  like  a  cannon  stroke  !  Ah,  ha.  Hodge, 
that  was  a  fine  bomb  shell,  was  it  not?  And  as  1  said  "Hodge,  my 
dear  Hodge,"  you  tumbled  about  like  a  kernel  of  corn  which  a  dung- 
beetle  blows  with  his  breath.  No,  no,  my  worthy  and  virtuous  Gam- 
mer Gurton,  it  was  not  Tib  who  called  the  handsome  Hodge,  and  more 
than  that,  I  saw  Tib,  as  your  contest  began,  go  out  at  the  court-yard 
gate. 

It  was  not  Tib,  exclaimed  Gammer  Gurton,  much  moved,  and  happy 
as  love  could  make  her.  It  was  not  Tib,  and  she  was  not  in  the  court 
at  all,  and  Hodge  could  not  then  go  down  to  her,  while  I  went  to  th« 
shop-keeper's  to  buy  needles.  Oh,  Hodge,  Hodge,  will  you  forgive  me 
for  this  ;  will  you  forget  the  hard  words  which  I  spoke  in  the  fury  of  my 
anguish,  and  can  you  love  me  again  1 

I  will  try,  said  Hodge  gravely;  and,  without  doubt,  I  shall  succeed, 
provided  you  go  to-day  forthwith  to  the  justice,  and  make  your  will. 

I  will  make  my  will,  and  tomorrow  we  will  go  to  the  priest;  shall  it 
not  be  so,  my  angel  1 

-  Yes,  we  go  to  the  priest  to  morrow  !  growled  Hodge,  as  with  a  fright- 
ful grimace  he  scratched  himself  behind  the  ears. 

And  now  come,  my  ang*el,  and  give  me  a  kiss  of  reconciliation  ! 

She  spread  her  arms  out,  and  when  Hodge  did  not  come  to  her,  but 
remained  immovable  and  steadfast  in  his  position,  she  went  to.  Hodge 
and  pressed  him  tenderly  to  her  heart. 

Suddenly  she  uttered  a  shriek,  and  let  go  of  Hodge.  She  had  felt  a 
terrible  pain  in  her  breast.  It  seemed  as  though  a  small  dagger  had 
pierced  her  bosom. 

And  there  it  was,  the  lost  needle,  and  Hodge  then  was  innocent  and 
pure  as  the  early  dawn. 

He  had  not  mischievously  purloined  the  needle,  so  that  Gammer 
Gurttm  would  be  compelled  to  leave  her  house  in  order-  to  fetch  some 
new  needles  from  the  shop  keepers ;  he  had  not  intended  to  go  to  Tib, 
for  Tib  was  not  in  the  court,  but  had  gone  out. 

Oh,  Hodge,  Hodge,  good  Hodge,  you  innocent  dove,  will  you  for- 
give me  1 

Come  to  the  justice  of  the  peace,  Gammer  Gurton,  and  I  forgive  you  ! 

They  sank  tenderly  into  each  others'  arms,  wholly  forgetful  of  their 
master,  who  still  stood  near  them,  and  looked  on,  laughing  and  nodding 
his  head. 

Now  then,  I  have  found  the  finest  and  most  splendid  materials  for 
my  piece,  said  John  Heywood,  as  he  left  the  loving  pair  and  betook 
himself  to  his  own  room.  Gammer  Gurton  has  saved  me,  and  King 
Henry  will  not  have  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  me  whipped  by  those 
most  virtuous  and  most  lovely  ladies  of  his  Court.  To  work  then, 
straightway  to  work ! 

He  seated  himself  at  his  writing  desk,  and  seized  a  pen  and  paper. 

But  how?  asked  h?,  suddenly  pausing.     That  is  certainly  a  rich  sub- 


U4 

jfd  for  a  composilion  ;  but  I  can  never  in  the  world  get  an  interlude  out 
of  it!  What  shall  1  do  with  it?  Abandon  this  subject  altogether,  and 
again  jeer  at  the  monks  and  ridicule  the  nuns?  That  is  antiquated  and 
worn  out !  1  will  write  something  new,  something  wholly  new,  and 
something  which  will  make  the  King  so  merry,  that  he  will  not  sign  a 
death-warrant  fur  a  whole  day.  Yes,  yes,  a  merry  play  shall  it  be,  and 
then  I  will  call  it  boldly  and  fearlessly  a  comedy  ! 

He  seized  his  pen  and  wrote  :  Gammer  Gurtori 's  Needle,  aright  jnth.y, 
pleasant  and  merry  Comedy. 

And  thus  originated  the  first  English  Comedy,  by  John  Hey  wood, 
fool  to  King  Henry  the  Eighth.* 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

% 

LADY  JANE. 

All  was  quiet  in  the  palace  of  Whitehall.  Even  the  servants  on 
guard  in  the  vestibule  of  the  King's  bedchamber  had  been  a  long  time 
slumbering,  for  the  King  had  been  snoring  for  several  hours;  and  this 
majestical  sound  was,  to  the  dwellers  in  the  palace,  the  joyful  announce- 
ment that  for  one  fine  night  they  were  exempt  from  service,  and  might 
be  free  men. 

The  Queen  also  had  long  since  retired  to  her  apartments,  and  dis- 
missed her  ladies  at  an  unusually  early  hour.  She  felt,  she  said^pear- 
ied  by  the  chase,  and  much  needed  rest.  No  one;  therefore,  was  to  ven- 
ture to  disturb  her,  unless  the  King  should  order  it. 

But  the  King,  as  we  have  said,  slept,  and  the  Queen  had  no  reason  to 
fear  that  her  night's  rest  would  be  disturbed. 

Deep  silence  reigned  in  the  palace.  The  corridors  were  empty  and 
deserted,  the  apartments  all  silent. 

Suddenly  a  figure  tripped  along  softly  and  cautiously  through  the  long 
feebly  lighted  corridor.  She  was  wrapped  in  a  black  mantle  ;  a  veil 
concealed  her  face. 

Scarcely  touching  the  floor  with  her  feet,  she  floated  away,  and  glided 
down  a  little  staircase.  .  Now  she  stops  and  listens.  There  is  nothing 
to  hear  ;  all  is  noiseless  and  still. 

Then  on  again.     Now  she  wings  her  6teps.     For  here  she  is  sure  of 

*  This  Comedy  was  first  printed  in  the  year  1661,  but  it  was  represented  at  Christ  College  fully  a 
hundred  years  previously.  W  ho  was  the  author  of  it,  is  not  known  with  certainty ;  but  it  is  possible 
that  the  writer  of  It  was  John  Heywood,  the  epigrammatist  and  Court-jester.  Seo  Dramaturgte,  od«r 
Thoorie  und  Gcrohichte  der  dramatiachen  Eunst,  von  Thoodore  Muudt;  vol.  1,  page  809.  Flogel's 
GcBchichte  der  llofnarren  ;  page  C99. 


1 1  :> 

not  being  heard.     It  is  the  unoccupied  wing  of  the   castle  of  Whitehall. 
Nobody  watches  her  here. 

On  then,  on,  adown  that  corridor,  descending  those  stairs.  There  she 
stops  before  a  door  leading  into  the  summer  house.  6he  puts  her  ear 
to  the  door,  and  listens.     Then  she  claps  her  hands  thiee  times. 

The  sound  is  re-echoed  from  the  other  side. 

Oh,  he  is  there,  he  is  there!  Forgotten  now  are  her  cares,  foi gotten 
her  pains  and  tears,     lie  is   there.     She   has  him  again.       » 

She  throws  open  the  door.  It  is  dark  indeed  in  the  chamber,  but 
she  sees  him,  for  the  eye  of  love  pierces  the  night;  and  if  she  sees  him 
not,  yet  she  feels  his  presence. 

She  rests  on  his  heart ;  he  presses  her  closely  to  his  breast.  Leaning 
on  each  other,  they  grope  cautiously  along  through  the  dark,  desolate 
chamber  to  the  divan  at  the  upper  end,  and  there,  both  locked  in  a  hap- 
py embrace,  they  sink  upon  the  cushion. 

At  last  I  have  you  again  !  and  my  arms  again  dasp  this  divine  form, 
and  again  my  lips  press  this  crimson  mouth!  Oh,  my  beloved,  what 
an  eternity  has  this  separation  been!  Six  days!  Six  long  nights  of 
agony  !  Have  you  not  felt  how  my  soul  cried  out  for  you,  and  was 
filled  with  trepidation  ;  how  I  stretched  my  amis  out  into  the  night,  ami 
let  them  fall  again  di.-cousolate  and  trembling  with  ancuish,  becauso 
they  clasped  nothing, — naught  but  the  cold,  vacant  night  breeze!  Did 
you  not  hear,  my  beloved,  how  I  ciied  to  you  with  siiihs  and  tears;  how 
in  glowing  dithyrambics  I  poured  forth  to  you  my  longing-,  my  love, 
my  rapture?  But  you,  cruel  you,  remained  ever  cold,  <>ver  smiling. 
Your  eyes  were  ever  flashing  in  all  the  pride  and  grandeur  of  a  Juno. 
The  roses  on  your  cheeks  were  not  one  whit  the  paler.  No,  no,  .you 
have  not  longed  for  me:  your  heart  h;is  not  felt  this  painful,  blissful  an- 
guish. You  are  first  and  above  all  things  the  proud,  cold  Queen,  and 
next,  next  the  loving  woman. 

HOW  unjust  and  hard  you  are,  my  Henry!  whispered  she  softly.  Ah, 
I  have  indeed  suffered  ;  and  perhaps  my  pains  have  been  more  cruel  and 
bitter  than  yours,  for  I.  I  had  to  let  them  consume  me  within.  You 
could  pour  them  forth,  you  could  stretch  out  your  arms  after  me,  you 
could  utter  lamentations  and  sighs.  You  were  not,  like  me,  condemned 
to  laugh  and  to  jest,  and  to  listen  with  apparently  attentive  ear  to  all 
these  often  heard  and  constantly  repeated  phrases  of  praise  and  adora- 
tion from  those  about  me.  You  were  at  least  free  to  suflW.  1  was  not. 
It  is  true.  1  smiled,  but  amidst  the  pains  of  death.  It  is  true,  my  cheeks 
did  not  blanch,  but  rouge  was  the  veil  with  which  I  covered  their  pale- 
ness; and  then,  Henry,  in  the  midst  of  my  pains  and  longings,  I  had,  too, 
a  sweet  consolation.  Your  letters,  your  poems,  whioh  fell  like  the  dew 
of  heaven  upon  my  sick  soul,  and  restored  it  to  health,  for  new  torments 
and  new  hopes.  Oh  how  1  love  them — those  poems,  in  whose  noble  and 
enehantinp  language  your  love  and  our  sufferings  are  reechoed.  How 
my  whole  soul  flew  forth  to  meet  them,  when  I  received  them,  and  how 
pressed    I    my  lips   thousands  and   thousands   of  times    ou    the   paper 


11(3 

■which  seemed  to  me  redolent  with  your  breath  and  your  sighs.  How 
I  love  that  good,  faithful  Jane,  the  silent  messenger  of  our  love.  When 
1  behold  her  entering  my  chamber,  with  the  unsullied  paper  in  hand, 
she  is  to  me  the  dove  with  the  olive  leaf,  that  brings  me  peace  and  hap- 
piness, and  I  rush  to  her,  and  press  her  to  my  bosom;  and  I  give  her  all 
the  kisses  I  would  give  you,  and  feel  how  poor  and  powerless  I  am,  be- 
cause I  cannot  repay  her  all  the  happiness  that  she  brings  me.  Ah,  Hen- 
ry, how  many  thanks  do  we  owe  to  poor  Jane  ! 

Why  do  you  call  her  poor,  whew  she  can  be  near  you,  always  behold 
you,  always  hear  you1? 

1  call  her  poor,  because  she  is  unhappy.  For  she  loves,  Henry — she 
loves  to  desperation,  to  madness,  and  she  is  not  loved.  She  is  pining 
away  with  grief  and  pain,  and  wrings  her  hands  in  boundless  woe.  Have 
you  not  noticed  how  pale  she  is,  and  how  her  eyes  become  daily  more 
dim? 

No,  I  "have  not  seen  it,  for  I  see  naught  but  you,  arid  Lady  Jane  is  to 
me  a  lifeless  image,  as  are  all  other  women.  But  what !  You  tremble  ; 
and  your  whole  frame  writhes  in  my  arms,  as  if  in  a  convulsion  ?  And 
what  is  that  ?     Are  you  weeping  % 

Oh,  I  weep,  because  I  am  so  happy.  I  weep,  because  I  was  thinking 
how  fearful  the  suffering  must  be,  to  give  the  whole  heart  away,  and  re- 
ceive nothing  in  return,  naught  but  death !     Poor  Jane  ! 

What  is  she  to  us  1  We,  we  love  each  other.  Come,  dear  one,  let 
me  kiss  the  tears  from  your  eyes ;  let  me  drink  this  nectar,  that  it  may 
inspire  me,  and  transfigure  me  to  a  god  !  Weep  no  more — no,  weep  not; 
or,  if  you  will  do  so,  be  it  only  in  the  excess  of  rapture,  and  because 
word  and  heart  are  too  poor  to  hold  all  this  bliss ! 

Yes,  yes,  let  us  shout  for  joy  ;  let  us  be  lost  in  blessedness  !  exclaim- 
ed ihe  passionately,  as  with  frantic  violence  she  threw  herself  on  his 
bosom. 

Both  were  now  silent,  mutely  resting  on  each  other's  heart. 

Oh  how  sweet  this  silence;  how  entrancing  this  noiseless,  sacred 
night!  How  the  trees  without  there  murmur  and  rustle,  as  if  they 
were  singing  a  heavenly  lullaby  to  the  lovers  ;  how  inquisitively  the 
pale  crescent  moon  peeps  through  the  window,  as  though  she  were  seek- 
ing the  twain  whose  blessed  confidant  she  is. 

But  happiness  is  so  swift  winged,  and  time  flies  so  fast,  when  love  is 
their  companion. 

Even  now  they  must  part  again — now  they  must  again  say  :  Farewell. 

Not  yet,  beloved,  stay  yet !  See,  the  night  is  still  dark  ;  and  hark, 
the  castle  clock  is  just  striking  two.     No,  go  not  yet. 

1  must,  Henry,  1  must ;  the  hours  are  past  in  which  I  can  be  happy. 

Oh,  you  cold,  proud  soul !  Does  the  head  already  long  again  for  the 
crown ;  and  can  you  wait  no  longer  for  the  purple  to  again  cover  your 
shoulders  1  Come,  let  me  kiss  your  shoulder ;  and  think  now,  dear, 
that  my  crimson  lips  are  also  a  purple  robe. 

And  a  purple  robe  for  which  I  would  gladly  give  my  crown,  and  my 


]17 

life!  cried  she  wilh  the  utmost  enthusiasm,  as  she  folded  him  in  her 
arms. 

Do  you  love  me  then1?     Do  you  really  love  me? 

Yes,  I  love  you  ! 

Can  you  swear  to  me  that  you  love  no  one  except  me  ? 

I  can  swear  it,  as  true  .is  there  is  a  God  above  us,  who  hears  my  oath. 

Bless  you  for  it,  you  dear,  you  only  one, — oh,  how  shall  1  call  you 

you,  whose  name  I  may  not  utter !  Oh,  do  you  know  that  it  is  cruel 
never  to  name  the  name  of  the  loved  one?  Withdraw  that  prohibition  ■ 
grudge  mo  not  the  painfully  sweet  pleasure  of  being  able  at  least  to  call 
you  by  your  name. 

No,  said  she  with  a  shudder  ;  for  know  you  not  that  the  sleep-walkers 
awake  out  of  their  dreams  when  they  are  culled  by  name  ?  1  am  a  som- 
nambulist, who  with  smiling  courage  moves  along  a  dizzy  height;  call 
me  by  namR,  and  I  shall  awake  and,  shuddering,  plunge  into  the  abyss 
beneath.  Ah,  Henry,  1  hate  my  name,  for  it  is  pronounced  by  other 
lips  than  yours.  For  you,  I  will  not  be  named  as  other  men  call  me. 
Baptize  me,  my  Henry  ;  give  me  another  name — a  name  which  is  our 
secret,  and  which  no  one  knows  besides  us. 

I  name,  you  Geraldine,  and  as  Geraldine  I  will  praise  and  laud  you 
before  all  the  world  ;  1  will,  in  spite  of  all  these  spies  and  listeners,  re- 
peat again  and  again  that  1  love  you,  and  no  one,  not  the  King  himself, 
shall  be  able  lu  forbid  me. 

Hush,  said  she  with  a  shudder,  speak  not  of  him.  Oh,  I  conjure  you, 
my  Henry,  be  cautious  ;  think,  that  you  have  sworn  to  me  ever  to  think 
of  the  danger  that  threatens  us,  and  will,  without  doubt,  dash  us  in 
pieces  if  you,  by  only  a  sound,  a  look,  or  a  smile,  betray  the  sweet  se- 
cret that  unites  us  two.  Are  you  still  aware  what  you  have  sworn  to 
me? 

1  am  aware  of  it !  But  it  is  an  unnatural  Draconian  law.  What ! 
even  when  I  am  alone  with  you,  shall  I  never  be  allowed  to  address  you 
otherwise,  than  with  that  reverence  and  restraint  which  is  due  "the 
Queen  ?  Even  when  no  one  can  hear  us,  may  I,  by  no  syllable,  by 
none,  not  the  lightest  intimation,  remind  you  of  our  love  ? 

No,  no,  do  it  not ;  for  this  castle  has  everywhere  eyes  and  ears,  and 
everywhere  are  spies  and  listeners  behind  the  tapestry;  behind  the 
curtains;  everywhere  are  fhey  concealed  and  lurking,  watching  every 
feature,  every  smile,  every  word,  whether  it  may  not  afford  ground  for 
suspicion.  No-,  no,  Henry  ;  swear  to  me  by  our  love  that  you  will  never, 
unless  here  in  this  room,  address  me  otherwise  than  as"  your  Queen. 
Swear  to  me,  that  beyond  these  walls,  you  will  be  to  me  only  the  re- 
spectful servant  of  your  Queen,  and  at  the  same  time  the  proud  Earl 
and  Lord,  of  whom  it  is  said  that  never  has  a  woman  been  able  to 
touch  his  rrart.  Swear  to  me  that  you  will  not,  by  a  look,  by  a  smile, 
by  even  the  gentlest,  pressure  of  the  hand,  betray  what  beyond  this 
room  is  a  crime  for  both  of  us.  Let  this  room  be  the  temple  of  our 
love :  but  when  we  once  pass  its  threshold,  we  will  not  profane  the 


He 

sweet  mysteries  of  our  happiness,   by  allowing  unholy  eyes  to  behold 
even  a  single  ray  of  it.     Shall  it  be  so,  my  Henry  ? 

Yes,  it  shall  be  so!  said  he  with  troubled  voice;  although  I  must 
confess  that  this  dreadful  illusion  often  tortures  me  almost  to  death. 
Oh,  Geraldiue,  when  I  meet  you  elsewhere,  when  I  observe  the  eye  so 
icy  and  immoveable,  with  which  you  meet  my  look,  I  /eel,  as  it  were, 
my  heart  convulsed  ;  and  1  say  to  myself:  This  is  not  she,  whom  1 
]ove — not  the  tender,  passionate  woman,  whom  in  the  darkness  of  the 
night  1  sometimes  lock  in  my  arms.  This  is  Catharine,  the  Queen,  but 
not  my  loved  one.  A  woman  cannot  so  disguise  herself;  art  goes  not 
so  far  as  to  fabify  the  entire  nature,  the  innermost  being  and  life  of  a 
person.  Oh,  there  have  been  hours,  awful,  horrible  hours,  when  it 
seemed  to  me  as  though  all  this  were  a  delusion,  a  mystification — as 
though  in  some  way  an  evil  demon  assumed  the  Queen's  form  by  night 
to  mod?  me,  poor  frenzied  visionary,  with  a  happiness  that  has  no  ex- 
istence, but  lives  only  in  my  imagination.  When  such  thoughts  come 
to  me,  I  feel  a  frenzied  fury,  a  crushing  despair,  and  I  could,  regardless 
of  my  oath  and  even  of  the  danger  that  threatens  you,  rush  to  you, 
and  before  all  the  courtly  rabble  and  the  King  himself,  ask  :  Are  you 
really  what  you  seem  ?  Are  you,  Catharine  Parr,  King  Henry's  wife — 
nothing  more,  nothing  else  than  that?  Or  are.  you,  my  beloved,  the  wo- 
man who  is  mine  in  her  every  thought,  ner  every  breath ;  who  has 
vowed  to  me  eternal  love  and  unchanging  truth;  and  whom  I,  in  spite 
of  the  whole  world,  and  the  King,  press  to  my  heart  as  my  own  ? 

Unhappy  man,  if  you  ever  venture  that,  you  doom  us  both  to  death. 

Be  it  so,  then  !  In  death  you  would  at  least  be  mine,  and  no  one 
would  longer  dare  separate  us,  and  your  eyes  would  no  longer  look  so 
coldly  and  strangely  upon  me,  as  they  often  now  do.  Oh,  I  conjure 
you,  gaze  not  upon  me  at  all,  if  you  cannot  do  it  otherwise  than  with 
those  cold,  proud  looks,  that  benumb  my  heart.  Turn  away  your  eyes 
and  speak  to  me  with  averted  face. 

Then,  men  will  say  that  I  hate  you,  Henry. 

It  is  more  agreeable  to  me  for  them  to  say  you  abhor  me  than  for 
them  to  see  that  I  am  wholly  indifferent  to  you ;  that  bjom  to  you  no- 
thing more  than  the  Earl  of  Surrey,  your  Lord  Chamberlain. 

No,  no,  Henry  !  They  shall  see  that  you  are  more  to  me  than  merely 
that.  Before  the  whole  assembled  Court  I  will  give  you  a  token  of  my 
love.  Will  you  then  believe,  you  dear,  foolish  enthusiast,  that  I  love 
you,  and  that  it  is  no  demon  that  rests  here  in  your  arms  and  swears 
that  she  loves  nothing  but  ^ou?     Say,  will  youthen  believe  me? 

I  will  believe  you  ?  But  no,  there  is  no  need  of  any  sign,  or  any  as- 
surance. Nay,  I  know  it ;  1  feel  indeed  the  sweet  reality  that  cuddles 
to  my  side,  warm,  and  filling  me  with  happiness ;  and  it  is  only  the 
excess  of  happiness  that  makes  me  incredulous.  % 

I  will  convince  you  thoroughly  ;  and  you  shall  doubt  no  more,  not 
even  in  the  intoxication  of  happiness.  Listen,  then.  The  King,  as  you 
know,  is  about  to  hold  a  great  tournament  and  festival  of  the  poets, 


J  IS 

and  it  will  take  place  in  a  few  days.  Now,  then,  nt  this  feat  I  will  pub'- 
licly,  in  the.  presence  of  the  King  and  his  Court,  give  you  a  rosette  that 
I  wear  oil  my  .shoulder,  and  in  the  silver  fringe  of  which  you  will  find 
a  note  from  me.      Will  that  satisfy  you,  my  Henry  ? 

And  do  you  still  question  it,  my  dear?  Do  you  question  it,  when 
you  will  make  me  proud  and  happy  above  all  others  of  your  Court? 

He  pressed  her  closely  to  .his  heart  and  kissed  her.  But  suddenly 
she  writhed  in  his  arms,  and  started  up  in  wild  alarm. 

Day  is  breaking,  day  is  breaking !  See  there,  a  read  streak  is  spread- 
ing over  the  clouds.  The  sun  is  coming;  day  is  coming,  and  already 
begins  to  dawn. 

lie  endeavored  to  detain  her  still  ;  but  she  tore  herself  passionately 
away,  and  again  enveloped  her  head  in  her  veil. 

Yes,  said  he,  day  is  breaking  and  it  is  growing  light !  Let  me  then, 
for  a  moment  at  least,  see  your  face.  My  soul  thirsts  for  it  as  the  parched 
earth  for  the  dew.  Come,  it  is  light  here  at  the  window.  Let  me  see 
your  eyes. 

She  tore  herself  vehemently  away.  No,  no,  you  must  begone! 
Hark,  it  i"  already  three  o'clock.  Soon  everything  will  be  astir  in  the 
castle.  Did  it  not  seem  as  if  some  person  passed  by  the  door  here  ? 
Haste,  haste,  if  you  do  not  wish  me  to  die  of  dread.  She  threw  his 
cloak  over  him  ;  she  diew  his  hat  over  his  brow,  then  once  more  she 
threw  her  arm>  around  his  neck  and  pressed  on  his  lips  a  burning  kiss. 

Farewell,  my  beloved,  farewell,  Henry  Howard.  When  we  see  each 
other  again  to-day,  you  are  the  Earl  of  Surrey,  and  F,  the  Queen,  not  your 
loved  one— not  the  woman  who  loves  you!  Happiness  is  past  and 
suffering  awakes  anew.     Farewell. 

She  herself  opened  the  glass-door,  and  pushed  her  lover  out. 

Farewell,  Geraldine  ;  good  night,  my  dear  !  Day  comes,  and  1  again 
greet  you  as  my  Queen,  and  I  shall  have  to  endure  again  the  torture'of 
your  cold  looks  and  your  haughty  smiles. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
loyola's  general. 


She  rushed  to  the  window  and  gazed  after  him  till  he  had  disap- 
peared, then  she  uttered  a  deep  cry  of  anguish,  and,  wholly  overcome 
by  her  agony,  she  sank  down  on  her  knees  weeping  and  wailing, 
wringing  her  hands  and  raising  them  God. 

But  just  before  so  happy  and  joyful,  she  was  now  full  of  woe  and  an- 
guish ;  and  bitter  sighs  of  complaint  came  trembling  from  her  lips. 


120 

Oh,  oh,  moaned  she  with  sobs;  what  terrible  agonies  are  these,  and 
how  full  of  despair  the  anguish  that  lacerates  my  breast!  I  have  lain 
in  his  arms  ;  1  have  received  his  vows  of  love  and  accepted  his  kisses  ; 
and  these  vows  are  not  mine,  and  these  kisses  he  gave  not  to  me.  He 
kissed  me,  and  he  loves  in  me  only  her,  whom  1  hate.  He  lays  his 
hands  in  mine,  and  utters  vows  of  love  which  he  dedicates  to  her.  He 
thinks  aud  feels  for  her  only — her  alone.  What  a  terrible  torture  this  is  ? 
To  be  loved  under  her  name  ;  under  her  name  to  receive  the  vows  of 
love  that  yet  belong  to  me  only — to  me  alone  !  For  he  loves  me,  me 
exclusively  alone.  They  are  my  lips  that  he  kisses,  my  form  that  he 
embraces;  to  me  are  addressed  his  words  and  his  letters ;  and  it  is  1 
that  reply  to  them.  He  loves  me,  me  only,  and  yet  he  puts  no  faith 
in  me.  i  am  nothing  to  him,  naught  but  a  lifeless  image,  like  other 
women.  This  he  has  told  me ;  and  I  did  not  become  frenzied  ;  and  I 
had  the  cruel  energy  to  pass  off  the  tears  wrung  from  me  by  despair, 
for  tears  of  rapture.  Oh,  detestable,  horrible  mockery  of  fate — to  be 
what  I  am  not,  and  not  to  be  what  I  am. 

And  with  a  shrill  cry  of  agony  she  tore  her  hair,  and  with  her  fist 
smote  upon  her  breast,  and  wept  and  moaned  aloud. 

She  heard  naught ;  she  saw  naught ;  she  felt  naught  but  her  inexpres- 
sible and  despairing  anguish. 

She  did  not  once  tremble  for  herself;  she  thought  not  at  all  of  this — 
that  she  would  be  lost  if  she  was  found  in  this  place. 

And  yet  at  the  other  side  of  the  room  a  door  had  opened,  softly  and 
noiselessly,  and  a  man  had  entered. 

He  shut  the  door  behind  him  and  walked  up  to  Lady  Jane,  who  still 
lay  on  the  floor.  He  stood  behind  her  while  she  uttgred  her  despairing 
lamentation.  He  heard  every  word  of  her  quivering  lips ;  her  whole 
heart  painfully  convulsed  and  torn  with  grief  lay  unveiled  before  him  ; 
and  she  knew  it  not. 

Now  he  bent  over  her;  and  with  his  hand  he  lightly  touched  her 
shoulder.  At  this  touch  she  gave  a  convulsive  start,  as  if  hit  by  the 
stroke  of  a  sword,  and  her  sobbing  was  immediately  silenced. 

An  awful  pause  ensued.  The  woman  lay  on  the  floor  motionless, 
,  breathless,  and  near  her,  tall  and  cold  as  a  figure  of  bronze,  stood  the 
man. 

Lady  Jane  Douglas,  said  he  then,  sternly  and  solemnly,  stand  up.  It 
becomes  not  your  father's  daughter  to  be  upon  her  knees,  when  it  is  not 
God  to  whom  she  kneels.  But  you  are  not  kneeling  to  God,  but  to  an 
idol,  which  you  yourself  have  made,  and  to  which  you  have  erected  a 
temple  in  your  heart.  This  idol  is  called  :  ''your  own  personal  misfor- 
tune." But  it  is  written  :  "Thou  shalt  have  no  other  Qods  but  me." 
Therefore  I  say  to  you  once  more :  Lady  Jane  Douglas,  rise  from  your 
knees,  for  it  is  not  your  God  to  whom  you  kneel. 

And,  as  though  these  words  exercised  a  magnetical  power  over  her, 
she  raised  herself  slowly  up  from  the  floor,  and  now  stood  there  before 
her  father,  stern  and  cold  as  a  statue  of  marble, 


181 

Cast  from  you  the  sorrows  of  this  world,  which  burden  you,  and  hin- 
der you  in  the  sacred  work  that  God  has  imposed  on  you  !  continued 
Earl  Douglas  in  his  metalic,  solemn  voice.  It  is  written,  "  Come  unto 
Me  all  ye  that  labor  and  ard  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  \ou  rest," 
saiih  our  God.  But  you,  Jane,  you  are  to  throw  clown  your  trouble  at 
the  foot  of  the  throne;  and  your  buiden  will  become  a  crown  that  will 
glorify  your  head. 

He  laid  his  hand  on  her  head,  but  she  wildly  shook  it  off. 

No,  cried  she  with  heavy,  faltering  tongue,  as  if  confused  in  a  dream. 
Away  with  this  crown  !  I  wish  no  crown  upon  which  devils  have  laid  a 
spell.  I  wish  no  royal  robe  that  has  been  dyed  crimson  with  the  blood 
of  my  beloved. 

She  is  still  in  the  delirium  of  her  anguish,  muttered  the  Earl,  as  ho 
contemplated  the  pale,  trembling  woman,  who  had  now  sunk  again  to 
her  knees,  and  was  staring  straight  before  her  with  eyes  bewildered  and 
stretched  wide  open.  But  the  looks  of  the  Earl  remained  cold  and  un- 
moved, and  not  the  least  compassion  was  aroused  in  him  for  his  poor 
daughter,  now  penetrated  with  anguish. 

Arise,  said  he  in  a  hard,  steelj'  voice.  The  Church,  by  my  mouth,  com- 
mands you  to  serve  her  as  you  have  vowed  to  do  ;  that  is  to  say,  with 
glad  heart  and  a  sense  of  your  reliance  on  God;  that  is  to  say,,  with 
smiling  lips  and  a  serene,  beaming  eye,  as  becomes  a  disciple  inspired  by 
faith,  and  as  you  have  sworn  to  do  in  the  hands  of  our  lord  and  master 
Ignatius  Loyola. 

I  cannot!  I  cannot!  moaned  she  in  a  low  tone.  1  cannot  be  glnd  at 
heart  when  despair,  like  a  wild  boar,  is  rending  my  heart ;  I  cannot  com- 
mand my  eye  to  shine  when  my  eyes  are  dimmed  with  tears  of  anguish. 
Oh,  have  pity,  have  compassion  !  Remember  that  you  are  my  father ; 
that  I  am  your  daughter ;  the  daughter  of  a  wife  whom  you  loved,  and 
who  woilld  find  in  the  grave  no  rest  if  she  knew  how  you  are  racking 
and  torturing  me.  My  mother,  my  mother,  if  thy  spirit  is  near  me, 
come  and  protect  me.  Let  thy  mild  looks  overshadow  ray  head,  and 
breathe  a  breath  of  thy  love  into  the  heart  of  this  cruel  father,  who  is 
ready  to  sacrifice  his  child  on  the  altar  of  his  God. 

God  has  called  me,  said  the  Earl,  and  like  Abraham,  I  too  will  learn 
to  obey.  But  I  will  not  adorn  my  victim  with  flowers,  but  with  a  royal 
crown.  I  will  not  plunge  a  knife  into  her  breast,  but  will  put  a  golden 
sceptre  into  her  hand  and  say  :  thou  art  a  queen  before  men,  but  before 
God  be  thou  a  faithful  and  obedient  servant.  Thou  hast  all  to  command. 
But  the  Holy  Church,  to  whose  service  thou  hast  consecrated  thys.-lf, 
and  who  will  bless  thee  if  thou  art  faithful ;  who  will  dash  thee  in  pieces 
with  her  curse,  if  thou  darest  deal  treacherously ;  she  commands  thee. 
No,  you  are  not  my  daughter  but  the  priestess  of  the  Church,  consecra- 
ted to  her  holy  service.  No,  I  have  no  sympathy  with  your  tears  and 
this  anguish,  for  I  see  the  end  of  these  sorrows,  and  I  know  that,  these 
tears  will  be  as  a  diadem  of  pearls  about  your  temples.  Lady  Jane 
Douglas,  it  is  the  saintly  Loyola  who  sends  you  his  commands  by  my 


U2 

mouth.  Obey  then,  not  because  I  am  your  father,  but  because  I  am  the 
General  to  whomyou  have  sworn  obedience  and  fidelity  unto  your  life's  end. 

Then  kill  me,  my  father  !  said  she  feebly.  Let  this  life  end,  which  is 
to  me  but  a  torture,  a  protracted  martyrdom.  Punish  me  for  my  dis- 
obedience by  plunging  your  dagger  deep  into  my  breast.  Punish  me, 
and  grudge  me  not  the  repose  of  the  grave. 

Poor  enthusiast,  said  the  father;  suppose  you,  we  would  be  foolish 
enough  to  subject  you  to  so  light  a  punishment1?  No,  no,  if  you  dare, 
in  insolent  disobedience,  rebel  against  my  commands,  your  penance  shall 
be  a  terrible  one,  and  your  punishment  without  end.  I  will  not  kill  you, 
but  him  whom  you  love  ;  it  will  be  his  head  that  falls  ;  and  you  will  be 
his  murderess.  He  shall  die  on  the  scaffold  and  you — you  shall  live  in 
disgrace. 

Oh  horrible!  groaned  Jane,  as  she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

Her  father  continued  :  Silly,  short-sighted  child,  who  thought  she  could 
play  with  the  sword,  and  did  not  see  that  she  herself  might  feel  the  stroke 
of  this  double  edged  blade.  You  wanted  to  be  the  servant  of  the  Church, 
that  you  might  thereby  become  mistress  of  the  world.  You  would  ac- 
quire glory,  but  this  glory  must  not  singe  your  head  with  its  fiery  rays. 
Silly  child;  he  who  plays  with  fire  will  be  consumed.  But  we  penetra- 
ted your  thoughts  and  the  wish  of  which  you  yourself  were  unconscious. 
We  looked  into  the  depths  of  your  being,  and  when  we  found  love 
there,  we  made  use  of  love  for  our  own  purposes  and  your  salvation. 
What  do  you  bewail  then,  and  why  do  you  weep  ?  Have  we  not  allowed 
you  to  love1?  Have  we  not  authorized  you  to  give  yourself  entirely  up 
to  this  love?  Do  you  not  call  yourself  Earl  Surrey's  wife,  though  you 
cannot  name  to  me  a  priest  that  married  you  ?  Lady  Jane,  obey,  and 
we  envy  you  not  the  happiness  of  your  love ;  dare  to  rebel  against  us, 
and  disgrace  and  shame  overtake  you,  and  you  shall  stand  before  all  the 
world  disowned  and  scoffed  at ;  you  the  strumpet,  that 

Stop,  my  father!  cried  Jane,  as  she  sprang  vehemently  from  the  floor. 
Desist  from  your  terrible  words  if  you  do  not  wish  me  to  die  of  shame. 
Nay,  I  submit,  1  obey  !     You  are  right,  1  cannot  draw  back. 

And  why  would  you  either?  Is  it  not  a  life  pleasant  and  full  of  en- 
joyment? Is  it  not  rare  good  fortune  to  see  our  sins  transfigured  to  vir- 
tue ;  to  be  able  to  account  earthly  enjoyment  the  service  of  heaven  ? 
And  what  do  you  bewail  then?  That  he  does  not  love  you?  Nay,  he 
does  love  you  ;  his  vows  of  love  still  echo  in  your  ears  ;  your  heart  still 
trembles  with  the  fruition  of  happiness.  What  matters  it  if  the  Earl 
of  Surrey  with  his  inward  eye  sees  the  woman  he  folds  in  his  arms  to 
be  another  than  you  ?  Yet  in  reality  he  loves  but  you  alone.  Whether 
you  are  for  him  named  Catherine  Parr  or  Jane  Douglas,  is  all  the  same 
if  you  only  are  his  love. 

But  a  day  will  come  when  he  will  discover  his  mistake,  and  when  he 
will  curse  me. 

That  day  will  never  come.  The  Holy  Church  will  find  a  way  to  avert 
that,  if  you  bow  to  her  will  and  are  obedient  to  her.  < 


123 

I  do  bow  to  it!  sighed  Jane.  I  will  obey;  only  promise  me,  my 
father,  that  no  harm  shall  happen  to  him;  that  I  shall  not  be  his  mur- 
deress. 

No,  you  shall  become  his  6aviour  and  deliverer.  Only  you  must  ful- 
fill punctually  the  work  I  commit  to  you.  First  of  all,  then,  tell  me  the 
result  of  your  meeting  to  day.  He  does  not  doubt  that  you  are  the 
Queeu  ? 

No,  he  believes  it  so  firmly  that  he  would  take  the  sacrament  on  it. 
That  is  to  say,  he  believes  it  now  because  I  have  promised  him  to  give 
hkn  publicly  a  sigu  by  which  he  may  recognize  that  it  is  the  Queen  that 
loves  him. 

And- this  sign  ?  enquired  her  father,  with  a  look  burning  with  joy. 

I  have  promised  him  that  at  the  great  tournament,  the  Queen  will 
give  him  a  rosette,  and  that  in  that  rosette  he  will  find  a  note  from  the 
Queen. 

Ah,  the  idea  is  an  admirable  one!  exclaimed  Lord  Douglas,  and  only 
a  woman  who  wishes  to  avenge  herself  could  conceive  it.  So  then, 
the  Queen  will  become  her  own  accuser,  and  herself  give  into  our  hands 
a  proof  of  her  guilt.  The  ouly  difficulty  in  the  way  is  to  bring  the  Queen, 
without  arousing  her  suspicion,  to  wear  this  rosette,  and  to  give  it  to 
Surrey. 

She  will  do  it  if  I  beg  her  to  do  so,  for  she  loves  me  ;  and  I  shall  so 
represent  it  to  her  that  she  will  do  it  as  an  act  of  kindness  to  me. 
Catharine  is  good-natured  and  agreeable,  and  cannot  refuse  a  request. 

And  I  will  apprise  the  King  of  it.  That  is  to  say,  I  shall  take  good 
care  not  to  do  this  myself,  for  it  is  always  dangerous  to  approach  a  hun- 
gry tiger  in  his  cage  and  carry  him  his  food,  because  he  might  in  his 
voracity  very  readily  devour  our  own  hand  together  with  the  proffered 
meat. 

But  how  ?  asked  she  with  an  expression  of  alarm.  Wi'.l  he  content 
himself  with  punishing  Catharine  alone  ;  will  he  not  also  crush  him — him 
whom  he  must  look  upon  as  her  lover? 

He  will  do  so.  But  you  yourself  shall  save  him  and  set  him  free. 
You  shall  open  his  prison  and  give  him  freedom,  and  he  will  love  you — 
you,  the  saviour  of  his  life. 

Father,  father,  it  is  a  hazardous  game  that  you  are  playing;  and  it 
may  happen  that  you  will  become  thereby  your  daughter's  murderer. 
For,  listen  well  t<»  what  J  tell  you  ;  if  his  head  falls,  1  die  by  my  own 
hands;  if  you  make  me  his  murderess,  you  become  thereby  mine. ;  and 
1  will  curse  you  and  execrate  you  in  hell  !  What  to  me  is  a  roj  al  orowa 
if  it  be  stained  with  Iii:nry«  Howard's  blood  ?  What  care  1  for  renown 
and  honor,  if  he  is  not  there  to  see  my  greatness,  and  if  his  beaming 
eyes  do  not  reflect  back  to  me  the  light  of  my  crown  1  Protect  him  there- 
;  guard  his  life  as  the  apple  of  your  eye,  if  you  wish  me  to  accept 
the  royal  crown  that,  \<>u  otfrr  me,  so  that  the  King  of  England  may 
become  again  a  vassal  of  the  Church  ! 
^ And  that  the  whole  of  devout  Christendom  may  praise  Jane  Douglas, 


124 

the  pious  queen,  who  has  succeeded  in  the  holy  work  of  bringing  the 
rebellious  and  recreant  son  of  the  Church,  Henry  the  Eighth,  back  to 
the  Holy  Father  in  Rome,  to  the  only  consecrated  Lord  of  the  Church, 
truly  penitent.  On,  on,  my  daughter;  do  not  despond.  A  high  aim 
beckons  you;  and  a  brilliant  fortune  awaits  you!  Our  holy  mother, 
the  Church,  will  bless  and  praise  you,  and  Henry  the  Eighth  will  declare 
you  his  Queen. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE    PRISONER. 

Still  all  was  calm  and  quiet  in  the  palace  of  Whitehall.  Nothing 
was  stirring,  and  nobody  had  heard  how  Lady  Jane  Douglas  left  her 
chamber  and  glided  down  the  corridor. 

No  one  had  heard  it,  and  no  eye  is  awake,  and  none  sees  what  is  now 
taking  place  in  the  Queen's  room. 

She  is  alone  ;  all  alone.  The  servants  are  all  asleep  in  their  cham- 
bers. The  Queen  herself  has  bolted  the  doors  of  the  ante-room  on  the 
inside,  and  no  other  door  leads  into  her  boudoir  and  bedroom,  except 
through  this  ante-room. 

She  is  therefore  perfectly  secluded,  perfectly  secure. 

Speedily  and  in  haste  she  envelopes  herself  in  a  long  black  mantle, 
the  hood  of  which  she  draws  well  over  her  head  and  brow,  and  which 
completely  covers  and  conceals  her  form. 

And  now  she  presses  on  a  spring  inserted  in  the  frame  of  a  picture. 
The  picture  flies  back  and  shows  an  opening,  through  which  a  person  can 
quite  conveniently  pass  out. 

Catharine  does  so.  Then  she  carefully  pushes  the  picture  back  to  its 
place  from  the  outside,  and  for  a  long  time  walks  on  in  the  passage  hol- 
lowed out  of  the  solid  wall,  till  groping  along  she  at  last  lays  hold  again 
of  a  knob  in  the  wall.  She  presses  on  it ;  and  now  at  her  feet  opens  a 
trapdoor,  through  which  a  feeble  light  forces  its  way  and  renders  visible 
a  small  narrow  staircase  there  situated.  Catharine  enters  and  descends 
the  steps  with  winged  feet.  Now  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase,  she  again 
presses  on  a  secret  spring  ;  and  again  a  door  opens,  through  which  the 
Queen  passes  into  a  large  hall. 

Oh,  whispered  she,  fetching  a  long  breath,  the  green  summer  house 
at  last. 

She  quickly  traversed  it  and  opened  the  next  door. 

John  Hey  wood? 


J  25 

I  am  here,  Queen  ! 

Hush,  hush,  gently  as  possible,  that  the  watch,  who  walks  up  and 
down  just  behind  the  door,  may  not  hear  us.  Come,  we  still  have  a  long 
walk",  let  us  make  haste. 

Again  she  pressed  on  a  spring  inserted  in  the  wall ;  and  again  a  door 
opens.  But  before  Catharine  bolts  this  door,  she  takes  the  lamp  burn- 
ing on  the  table  there,  which  is  to  lighten  the  dark  and  difficult  path 
through  which  they  are  now  to  wend  their  way. 

Now  she  bolts  the  door  behind  them  ;  and  they  enter  a  long,  dark 
corridor,  at  the  end  of  which  is  found  still  another  staircase,  and  down 
which  they  both  go. .  Numberless  steps  conduct  them  below  ;  gradually 
the  air  becomes  dense;  the  steps  moist.  The  stillness  of  the  grave  is 
around  them.     No  sound  of  life,  not  the  least  noise  is  now  perceptible. 

They  are  in  a  subterranean  passage,  which  stretches  out  in  length  be- 
fore them  further  than  the  eye  can  reach. 

Catharine  turns  to  John  Hey  wood  ;  the  lamp  lights  up  her  face,  which 
is  pale,  but  exhibits  an  expression  firm  and  resolute. 

John  Heywood,  reflect  once  more  !  I  ask  not  whether  you  have 
courage,  for  I  know  that.  I  only  wish  to  know,  whether  you  will  em- 
ploy this  courage  for  your  Queen  ? 

No,  not  for  the  Queen,  but  for  the  noble  woman  who  has  saved  my 
son. 

You  must  then  be  my  protector  to-day  if  we  meet  with  dangers.  But 
if  it  be  God's  will,  we  shall  encounter  no  dangers.     Let  us  go. 

They  go  vigorously  forward,  silent  all  the  way. 

At  length  they  come  to  a  place  wherie  the  passage  grows  broader,  and 
spreads  out  into  a  little  open  chamber;  on  the  side  walls  of  which  a 
few  seats  are  placed. 

We  have  now  accomplished  half  of  the  journey,  said  Catharine  ;  and 
here  we  will  rest  a  little. 

She  placed  the  lamp  on  the  small  marbla  table  in  the  middle  of  the 
passage  and  sat  down,  pointing  to  John  Heywood  to  take  a  seat  near 
her. 

I  am  not  the  Queen  here,  said  she;  and  you  are  not  the  King's  fool ; 
but  I  am  a  poor  weak  woman,  and  you  are  my  protector.  You  may, 
therefore,  well  have  the  right  to  sit  by  me. 

But  John  shook  his  head  with  a  smile,  and  sat  down  at  her  feet.  St. 
Catharine,  saviour  of  my  son,  1  lie  at  thy  feet,  and  devoutly  return  thanks 
to  thee. 

John,  are  you  acquainted  with  this  subterranean  passage?  asked  the 
Queen. 

John  gave  a  sad  smile.     I  am  acquainted  with  it,  Qupen. 

Ah,  you  know  it  ?     I  supposed  it  was  a  secret  of  the  King  and  Queen. 

Then  you  will  readily  conceive  that  the  fool  knows  it.  For  the  King 
of  England  and  the  fool  are  twin  brothers.  Yes,  Queen,  I  know  this 
passage;  and  1  once  wended  it  in  anguish  and  tears. 

What!     You  yourself,  John  Heywood'? 


J  26 

Yes,  Queen.  And  now  T  ask  you,  do  you  know  the  history  of  this 
underground  passage  1  You  are  silent  ?  Now,  well  for  you  that  you 
do  not  know  it.  Jt  is  a  long  and  bloody  history,  and  if  I  should  narrate 
to  you  the  whole  of  it,  the  night  would  be  too  short  for  it.  When  this 
passage  was  built,  Henry  was  still  young,  and  possessed  yet  a  heart. 
At  that  time,  he  loved  not  merely  his  wives,  but  his  friends  and  servants 
also — specially  Cromwell,  the  all-powerful  Minister.  He  then  resided 
at  Whitehall ;  and  Henry  in  the  royal  apartments  of  the  T-ower.  But 
Henry  was  always  longing  for  his  favorite;  and  so  Cromwell  one  day 
surprised  him  with  this  subterranean  passage,  the  construction  of  which 
had  occupied  a  hundred  men  a  whole  year.  Ah,  ah,  the  King  was  then 
very  much  moved,  and  thanked  his  powerful  Minister,  for  this  surprise, 
with  tears  and  hugs.  There  passed  scarcely  a  day  that  Henry  did  nob 
go  to  Cromwell  through  this  passage.  So  he  saw  each  day  how  the  pal- 
a  e  of  Whitehall  became  more  and  more  splendid  and  glorious;  and 
when  he  returned  to  the  Tower,  he  discovered  that  this  residence  was  al- 
together unworthy  of  a  king;  but  that  his  Minister  lived  by  far  more 
magnificently,  than  the  King  of  England.  That,  Queen,  was  the  cause  of 
Cromwell's  fall ! — The  King  wanted  Whitehall.  The  sly  Cromwell  no- 
ticed it,  and  made  him  a  present  of  his  gem,  the  palace,  on  whose  con- 
struction and  decoration  he  had  labored  ten  years.  Henry  accepted  the 
present ;  but  now  Cromwell's  fall  was  irrevocable.  The  King  could  not, 
of  course,  forgive  Cromwell  for  having  dared  to  offer  him  a  present  so 
valuable,  that  Henry  could  not,  or  would  not  repay  it.  He  remained 
therefore,  Cromwell's  debtor;  and  since  this  tormented  and  vexed  him, 
he  swore  Cromwell's  ruin.  When  Henry  moved  into  Whitehall,  it  was 
concluded  that  Cromwell  must  ascend  the  scaffold.  Ah,  the  King  is  such 
an  economical  builder.  A  palace  costs  him  nothing  but  the  head  of  a 
subject.  With  Cromwell's  head  he  paid  for  Whitehall ;  and  Wolsey 
died  for  Hampton  Court. 

Not  on  the  scaffold  though,  John. 

Oh,  no  ;  Henry  proferred  merely  to  break  his  heart,  and  not  his  head. 
First,  he  had  that  wonderful  pleasure  villa,  Hampton  Court,  with  all  its 
treasuies  presented  him  by  Wolsey  ;  then,  he  removed  him  from  all  his 
offices,  and  deprived  him  of  all  his  honors.  Finally,  he  was  to  go  to  the 
Tower  as  a  prisoner  ;  but  he  died  on  his  way  thither.  No,  you  are  right! 
Wols<;y  did  not  die  on  the  scaffold,  he  was  put  to  death  much  more 
slowly  and  more  cruelly.  He  was  not  killed  with  the  sword,  but  prick- 
ed  to  death  with  pins  ! 

Did  you  not  say,  John,  that  you  had  travelled  this  way  once  be- 
fore 1 

Yes,  Queen,  and  I  did  it  to  bid  farewell  to  the  noblest  of  men,  and 
the  truest  of  friends,  Thomas  More!  I  begged  and  besought  Cromwell 
so  long  that  he  had  compassion  on  my  anguish,  and  allowed  me  to  go 
thiough  this  passage  to  Thomas  More,  that!  might  at  least  receive  the 
blessing  and  last  kiss  of  affection  of  this  saint.  Ah.  Queen,  speak  no 
more  of  it  to  me.     From  that  day  I  became  a  fool ;  for  I  saw  it  was  not 


127 

worth  the  trouble  to  be  an  earnest  man,  when  such  men  as  More  are 
executed  as  criminals. — Come  Queen,  let  us  go  on! 

Yes,  on,  John  !  said  she  rising.  But  do  you  know  then  whither  we 
are  going  ? 

Ah,  Queen,  do  I  not  then  know  you  ?  and  did  1  not  tell  you  that  Anne 
Askew  is  to  be  stretched  upon  the.  rack  tomorrow,  unless  she  recant ! 

I  see  that  you  have  understood  me,  said  she,  giving  him  a  friendly 
nod.     Yes,  I  am  going  to  Anne  Askew  ! 

Hut  how  will  you,  without  being  seen  and  discovered,  find  ou!  her 
cell? 

John,  even  the  unhappy  have  friends.  Yes,  the  Queen  herself  h.-'s  a 
few  !  and  so  chance,  or  it  may  be  even  God's  will,  has  to  arranged  mat- 
ters, that  Anne  Askew  is  occupying,  just  at  this  time,  that  small  room 
in  which  this  secret  passage  terminates. 

Is  she  alone  in  that  room  ? 

Yes,  all  alone.     The  guard  stands  without,  before  the  door. 

And  should  they  hear  you,  and  open  the  door? 

Then  without  doubt  I  am  lost,  without  God  supports  me. 

They  walked  on  in  silence,  both  too  much  occupied  with  their  own 
thoughts  to  interrupt  them  by  conversation. 

But  this  long,  extended  walk  at  length  wearied  Catharine.  She 
leant  exhausted  against  the  wall. 

Will  you  do  me  a  favor,  Queen  1  asked  John  Heywood  Permit  me 
to  cafYy  you.  Your  little  feet  can  bear  you  no  farther  ;  make  me  your 
feet,  your  Majesty  ! 

She  refused  with  a  friendly  smile.  No,  John,  these  are  the  passion- 
stations  of  a  saint;  and  you  know  one  must  make  the  round  of  them 
in  the  sweat  of  his  face  and  on  his  knees. 

Oh,  Queen,  how  noble  and  how  courageous  you  are  !  exclaimed  John 
Heywood.  You  do  good  without  display,  and  you  shun  n  >  danger,  if 
it  avails  towards  the  accomplishment  of  a  noble  work. 

Yet,  John,  said  she  with  a  bewitching  smile,  I  dread  danger ;  and 
just  on  that  account  1  begged  you  to  accompany  me.  I  shudder  at  the 
long,  desolate  way,  at  the  darkness  and  grave-like  stillness  o(  this  pas- 
sage. Ah,  John,  I  thought  to  myself,  if  I  came  here  alone,  ihe  shades 
of  Anne  Boleyn  and  Catharine  would  be  roused  from  their  sleep  by 
me  who  wear  their  crown  ;  they  would  hover  about  me,  and  seize  mo 
by  the  hand  and  lead  me  to  their  gra\es,  to  show  me  that  there  is  yet 
room  there  for  me  likewise.  You  see,  then,  that  I  am  not  at  all  cour- 
ageous, but  a  cowardly  and  trembling  woman. 

And  nevertheless,  you  came,  Queen  ? 

I  reckoned  on  you,  John  Heywood.  It  was  my  duty  to  risk  this  pas- 
sage to  save,  perchanc\  the  life  of  the  poor  enthusiastic  girl.  For  it, 
shall  not  be  said  that  Catharine  deserts  her  friends  in  misfortune,  and 
♦  that  she  shrinks  back  at  danger.  1  am  but  a  poor  weak  woman,  John, 
who  cannot  defend  her  friends  with  weapons,  and,  therefore,  1  must  re- 
sort to  other  means.     But  see,  John,   here  the  path  forks!     Ah,  my 


123 

God,  I  know  it  only  from  the  description  that  was  given  me,  but  no 
one  said  anything  of  this  to  me.     John,  which  way  must  we  now  turn  ? 

This  way,  Queen  ;  and  here  we  are  at  the  end  of  our  journey.  That 
path  there  leads  to  the  torture  chamber,  that  is  to  say  to  a  small  grated- 
window,  through  which  one  can  overlook  that  room.  When  King 
Henry  was  in  special  good  humor,  he  would  resort  with  his  friend 
to  this  grating  to  divert  himself  a  little  with  the  tortures  of  the  damned 
and  blasphemers.  For  you  well  know,  Queen,  only  such  as  have  blas- 
phemed God,  or  have  not  recognized  King  Henry  as  the  Pope  of  their 
Church,  have  the  honor  of  the  rack  as  their  due.  But  hush  ;  here  we 
are  at  the  door,  and  here  is  the  spring  that  opens  it. 

Catharine  set  her  lamp  on  the  ground  and  pressed  the  spring. 

The  door  turned  slowly  and  noiselessly  on  its  hinges,  and  softly,  like 
the  shades,  the  two  entered. 

They  now  found  themselves  in  a  small,  circular  apartment,  which 
seemed- to  have  been  originally  a  niche  formed  in  the  wall  of  the  Tower, 
rather  than  a  room.  Through  a  narrow  grated  opening  in  the  wall  only 
a  little  air  and  light  penetrated  into  this  dungeon  ;j  the  bald,  bare  walls 
of  which  showed  the  stones  of  the  masonry.  There  was  no  chair,  no 
table  in  the  whole  space  ;  only  yonder  in  that  corner  on  the  earth  they 
had  heaped  up  some  straw.  On  this  straw  lay  a  pale,  tender  creature  ; 
the  sunken,  thin  cheeks,  transparently  white  as  alabaster ;  the  brow  so 
pure  and  clear ;  the  entire  countenance  so  peaceful ;  the  bare,  meagre 
arms  thrown  back  over  the  head  ;  the  hands  folded  over  the  forehead  ; 
the  head  bent  to  one  side  in  quiet,  peaceful  slumber  ;  the  delicate  tender 
fdm  wrapped  in  a  long  black  dress,  gently  stretched  out,  and  on  her  lips 
a  smile,  such  as  only  the  happy  know. 

That  was  Anne  Askew,  the  criminal,  the  condemned.  Anne  Askew, 
who  was  an  atheist  only  for  this,  because  she  did  not  believe  in  the 
King's  vast  elevation  and  godlikeness,  and  would  not  subject  her  own 
free  soul  to  that  of  the  King. 

She  sleeps  !  whispered  Catharine  deeply  moved.  Wholly  involun- 
tarily she  folded  her  hands  as  she  stepped  to  the  couch  of  the  sufferer, 
and  a  low  prayer  trembled  on  her  lips. 

So  sleep  the  just !  said  Heywood.  Angels  comfort  them  in  their 
slumbers  ;  and  the  breath  of  God  refreshes  them.  Poor  girl ;  how  soon, 
and  they  will  wrench  these  noble,  fair  limbs,  and  torture  thee  for  the 
honor  of  God,  and  open  to  tones  of  distress  that  mouth  which  now 
smiles  so  peacefully  !  , 

No,  no,  said  the  Queen  hastily.  I  have  come  to  save  her,  and  God 
will  assist  me  to  do  it.  1  cannot  spare  her  slumbers  any  longer.  f  must 
wake  her. 

She  bent  down  and  pressed  a  kiss  on  the  young  girl's  forehead.  Anne, 
awake;  I  am  here!  1  will  save  you  and  set  you  free.  An ue,  Anne, 
awake ! 

She  slowly  raised  her  large  brilliant  eyes,  and  nodded  a  salutation  to 
Catharine. 


12V 

Catharine  Parr !  said  she  with  a  smile.  I  expected  only  a  letter  from 
you  ;  and  have  you  come  yourself? 

The  guards  have  been  dismissed,  and  the  turnkeys  changed,  Anne ; 
for  our  correspondence  had  been  discovered. 

Ah,  you  will  write  to  me  no  more  in  future  !  And  yet  your  letters 
were  my  only  comfort,  sighed  Anne  Askew.  But  that  also  is'well ;  and 
perhaps  it  will  only  make  the  path  that  I  have  to  tread  still  easier  !  The 
Heart  must  set  itself  free  from  all  earthly  bonds,  that  the  soul  may  move 
its  pinions  freely  and  easily,  and  return  to  God. 

Hear  me,  Anne,  hear,  said  Catharine  in  a  low  and  hurried  voice.  •  A 
terrible  danger  threatens  you  !  The  King  ha?  given  orders  to  move 
you,  by  means  of  the  rack,  to  recant. 

Well,  and  what  more?  asked  Anne  with  smiling  face. 

Unfortunate,  you  know  not  what  you  are  saying!  You  know  not 
what  fearful  agonies  await  you !  You  know  not  the  power  of  pains, 
which  are  perhaps  still  mightier  than  the  spirit,  and  may  overcome  it. 

And  if  I  did  know  them  now,  what  would  it  avail  me  ?  asked  Anne 
Askew.  You  say  they  will  put  me  to  the  rack.  Well,  then,  I  shall  have 
to  bear  it,  for  F  have  no  power  to  change  their  will. 

Yet,  Anne,  yet  you  have  the  power!  Retract  what  you  have  said, 
Anne  !  Declare  that  you  repent,  and  that  you  perceive  that  you  have 
been  deluded !  Say  that  you  will  recognize  the  King  as  Lord  of  the 
Church  ;  that  you  will  swear  to  the  Six  Articles,  and  never  believe  in 
the  Pope  of  Rome.  Ah,  Anne,  God  sees  your  heart  and  knows  your 
thoughts.  You  have  no  need  to  make  them  known  by  your  lips.  He 
has  given  you  life,  and  you  have  no  right  to  throw  it  away  ;  yt>u  must 
seek  to  keep  it  so  long  as  you  can.  Recant  then  !  It  is  perfectly  allow- 
able to  deceive  those  who  would  lfiurder  us.  Recant  then,  Anne,  recant! 
When  they  in  their  haughty  arrogance  demand  of  you  to  say  what  they 
say,  consider  them  as  lunatics,  to  whom  you  make  apparent  concessions 
only  to  keep  them  from  raving.  Of  what  consequence  is  it,  whether 
you  do  or  do  not  say  that  the  King  is  the  head  of  the  Church?  From 
His  heavens  above,  God  looks  down  and  smiles  at  this  petty  earthly 
strife  which  concerns  not  Him,  but  men  only.  Let  scholars  and  theolo- 
gians wrangle;  we  women  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  If  we  only  be- 
lieve in  God,  and  bear  Him  in  our  hearts,  the  form  in  which  we  do  it  is 
a  matter  of  indifference.  But  in  this  ca*e  the  question  is  not  about  God, 
but  merely  about  external  dogmas.  Why  should  you  trouble  yourself 
with  these  ?  What  have  you  to  do  with  the  controversies  of  the  priests  ? 
Recant  then,  poor  enthusiastic  child,  recant ! 

While  Catharine  in  a  low  tone  and  with  fluttering  breath  thus  spoke, 
Anne  Askew  had  slowly  arisen  from  her  couch,  and  now  stood,  like  a 
a  lily,  so  slender  and  delicate,  confronting  the  Queen. 

Her  noble  countenance  expressed  deep  indignation.  Ilcr  eyes  shot 
lightning  ;  and  a  contemptuous  smile  was  on  her  lips. 

What?  Can  you  thus  advise  me?  said  she.  Can  you  wish  me  to 
deny  my  faith,  and  abjure  my  God,  only  to  escape  earthly  pain  ?     And 

9 


13« 

your  tongue  does  not  refuse  to  utter  this,  and  your  heart  does  not  shrink 
with  shame  while  y ou  do  it  ?  Luok  at  these  arms  ;  what  are  they  worth 
that  I  should  not  sacrifice  them  to  God  ?.  See  these  feeble  limbs  !  Are 
they  so  precious  that  I,  like  a  disgusting  niggard,  should  spare  them? 
No,  no,  God  is  my  highest  good — not  this  feeble,  decaying  body  !  For 
God  I  sacrifice  it.  I  should  recant  ?  Never!  Faith  is  not  enveloped 
in  this  or  that  garb  ;  it  must  be  naked  and  open.  So  may  mine  be.  And 
if  I  then  am  chosen  to  be  an  example  of  the  pure  faith,  that  denies  not, 
and  makes  profession — well  theu,  envy  me  not  this  preeminence.  "  Many 
are  called,  but  few  are  chosen."  If  I  am  one  of  the  chosen,  I  thank  God 
for  it,  and  bless  the  erring  mortals  who  wish  to  make  me  such  by  means 
of  the  torture  of  the  rack.  Ah,  believe  me,  Catharine,  I  rejoice  to  die, 
for  it  is  such  a  sad,  desolate,  and  desperate  thing  to  live.  Let  me  die, 
Catharine — die  to  enter  into  blessedness  ! 

But,  poor  pitiable  child  !  This  is  more  than  death;  it  is  the  torture 
of  earth  that  threatens  you.  Oh,  bethink  you,  Anne,  that  you  are  only 
a  feeble  woman.  Who  knows  whether  the  rack  may  not  yet  conquer 
your  spirit,  and  whether  you,  with  your  mangled  limbs,  may  not  by  the 
fury  of  the  pain  yet  be  brought  to  that  point  that  you  will  recant  and 
abjure. your  faith ! 

If  I  could  do  that,  cried  Anne  Askew  with  flashing  eyes,  believe  me, 
Queen,  as  soon  as  J  came  to  my  senses  I  would  lay  violent  hands  on 
myself,  in  order  to  give  myself  over  to  eternal  damnation,  as  the 
punishment  of  my  recantation  !  God  has  ordered  that  I  shall  be  a  sign 
of  the  true  faith.     Be  his  command  fulfilled !         / 

Well  then,  so  be  it,  said  Catharine  resolutely.  Do  not  recant,  but 
save  yourself  from  your  executioners  !  I,  Anne,  I  will  save  you !  I 
cannot  bear— I  cannot  think  of  it — that  this  dear  noble  form  should  be 
sacrificed  to  a  vile  delusion  of  man  ;  that  they  will  torture  to  the  honor 
of  God  a  noble  likeness  of  the  same  God  !  Oh,  come,  come,  I  will  save 
you  !  J,  the  Queen  !  Give  me  your  hand.  Follow  me  out  of  this-dun- 
geon.  1  know  a  path  that  leads  out  of  this  place ;  and  I  will  conceal 
you  so  long  in  my  own  apartments  that  you  can  continue  your  flight 
without  danger. 

No,  no,  Queen,  you  shall  not  conceal  her  wi^h  you  !  said  John  Hey- 
wood.  You  have  been  graciously  pleased  to  allow  me  to  be  your  confi- 
dant ;  envy  me  not  then  a  share  in  your  noble  work  also.  Not  with 
you  shall  Anne  Askew  find  refuge,  but  with  me.  Oh,  come,  Anne,  fol- 
low your  friends.  It  is  life  that  calls  you,  that  opens  the  doors  to  you, 
and  desires  to  call  you  by  a  thousand  names  to  itself!  Do  you  not  hear 
them,  all  those  sweet  and  alluring  voices ;  do  you  not  see  them,  all  those 
noble  and  smiling  faces,  how  they  greet  you  and  beckon  to  you?  Anne 
Askew,  it  is  the  noble  husband  that  calls  you  !  You  know  him  not  as 
yet,  but  he  is  waiting  for  you  there  in  the  world  without.  Anne  Askew, 
there  are  your  children,  who  are  stretching  their  tender  arms  out  to  you. 
You  have  not  yet  borne  them  ;  but  love  holds  them  in  her  arms  and 
will  bring  them   to  meet  you.     It  is  the  wife  and  the  mother  that  the 


131 

world  yet,  demands  of  you,  Anno.  You  ought  not  to  shun  the  holy 
calling  which  God  has  given  you.  Come  then  and  follow  us — follow  your 
Queen,  who  has  the  right  to  order  her  subject.  Follow  the  friend,  who 
has  sworn  that  he  will  watch  over  you  and  protect  you  as  a  father  ! 

Father  in  heaven  protect  me !  exclaimed  Anne  Askew,  falling  on  her 
knees  and  stretching  her  hands  upward.  Father  in  heaven,  they  would 
tear  away  thy  child,  and  alienate  my  heart  from  Theo !  They  are  lead« 
ing  me  into  temptation  and  alluring  me  with  their  words.  Protect  me, 
my  Father;  make  ray  ear  deaf,  that  I  may  not  hear  them  !  Give  mo  a 
sign  that  1  am  Thine ;  that  no  one  has  any  longer  power  over  me,  save 
Thou  alone  !     A  sign,  that  Thou,  Father,  callest  me  ! 

And  as  if  God  had  really  heard  her  prayer,  a  loud  knocking  was  now 
perceived  at  the  outer  door,  and  a  voice  cried  :  Anne  Askew,  awake, 
and  hold  yourself  ready  !  The  High  Chancellor  and  the  Bishop  of  Win- 
chester come  to  fetch  you  away  ! 

Ah,  the  rack  !  groaned  Catharine,  as  with  a  shudder  she  buried  her 
face  in  her  hands. 

Yes,  the  rack !  said  Anne  with  a  blissful  smile.     God  calls  me  ! 

John  Hey  wood  had  approached  the  Queen  and  impetuously  seized  her 
hand.  You  see  it  is  in  vain,  said  he  urgently.  Make  haste  then  to  save 
yourself!     Hasten  to  leave  this  piison  before  the  door  there  opens. 

No,  said  Catharine  firmly  and  resolutely.  No,  I  stay.  She  shall  not 
surpass  me  in  courage  and  greatness  of  soul !  She  will  not  deny  her 
God  ;  well  then,  I  also  will  be  a  witness  of  my  God.  I  will  not  in  shame 
cast  my  eyes  to  the  ground  before  this  young  girl ;  like  her  I  will  frankly 
and  openly  profess  my  faith  ;  like  her  I  will  say  :  God  alone  is  Lord  of 
his  Church,  God 

There  was  a  movement  without ;  a  key  was  heard  to  turn  in  the  lock. 

Queen,  I  conjure  you,  besought  John  Hey  wood,  by  all  that  is  holy  to 
you,  by  your  love,  come,  come  ! 

No,  no  !  .cried  she  vehemently. 

But  now  Anne  seized  her  hand,  and  stretching  the  other  arm  towards 
heaven,  she  said  in  a  loud  commanding  voice  :  In  the  name  of  God  I 
order  you  to  leave  me  ! 

WJiilo  Catharine  drew  back  wholly  involuntarily,  John  Hey  wood 
pushed  her  to  the  secret  door,  and  urging  her  out  almost  with  violence, 
he  drew  the  door  to  behind  them  both. 

Just  as  the  secret  door  had  closed,  the  other  on  the  opposite  side 
opened. 

With  whom  were  you  speaking  ?  asked  Gardiner,  peering  around  the 
room  with  a  sharp  look. 

With  the  tempter,  that  wished  to  alienate  me  from  God,  said  she. 
With  the  tempter,  who  at  the  approach  of  your  footsteps  wanted  to  fool 
my  heart  with  fear,  and  persuade  me  to  recant ! 

You  are  then  firmly  resolved?  you  do  not  retract?  asked  Gardiner; 
and  a  savage  joy  shone  in  his  pale,  hard  countenance. 

No,  I  do  not  recant !  said  she  with  a  faro  beaming  with  *miles. 


132 

Then  in  the  name  of  God  and  of  the  King,  I  take  yon  into  the  torture 
chamber!  cried  Chancellor  Wiiothesley,  as  he  advanced  and  laid  his 
heavy  hand  on  Anne's  shoulder.  You  would  not  hear  the  voice  of  love 
warning  you  and  calling  you,  so  we  will  now  try  to  arouse  you  from 
your  madness  by  the  voice  of  wrath  and  damnation. 

He  beckoned  to  the  attendants  on  the  rack,  who  stood  behind  him  in 
the  open  door,  and  ordered  them  to  seize  her  and  carry  her  to  the  tor- 
ture chamber. 

Anne,  smiling,  turned  them  back.  Nay,  not  so  !  said  she.  The  Saviour 
went  on  foot,  and  bore  his  cross  to  the  place  of  execution.  I  will  tread 
His  path.  Show  me  the  way,  Ulbllow  you.  But  let  no  one  dare  touch 
me.  I  will  show  you  that  not  by  constraint,  but  gladly  and  freely  I 
tread  the  path  of  suffering,  which  I  shall  endure  for  the  sake  of  my  God. 
Rejoice,  O  my  soul — sing,  my  lips,  for  the  Bridegroom  is  near,  and  the 
feast  is  about  to  begin. 

And  in  exultant  tones,  Anne  Askew  began  to  sing  a  hymn,"  that  had 
not  died  away  when  she  entered  the  torture  chamber. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

PRINCESS    ELIZABETH. 

The  King  sleeps.  Let  him  sleep  !  He„is  old  and  infirm,  and  God 
has  severely  punished  the  restless  tyrant  with  a  vacilating,  ever  dis- 
quieted, never  satisfied  spirit ;  while  he  bound  his  body  and  made  the 
spirit  prisoner  of  the  body  ;  while  he  made  the  ambitious  King,  strug- 
gling for  the  infinite,  a  slave  to  his  own  flesh.  How  high  soever  his 
thoughts  soar,  still  the  King  remains  a  clumsy,  confined,  powerless  child 
of  humanity  ;  how  much  soever  his  conscience  harrasses  him  with  dis- 
quiet and  dread,  yet  he  must  be  calm  and  endure  it.  He  cannot  run 
away  from  his  conscience;  God  has  fettered  him  by  the  flesh. 

The  King  is  sleeping !  But  the  Queen  is  not ;  and  Jane  Douglas  is 
not ;  neither  is  Princess  Elizabeth. 

She  has  watched  with  heart  beating  high.  She  was  restless,  and  pac- 
ing her  room  up  and  down  in  strange  confusion,  waited  for  the  hour 
that  she  had  appointed  for  the  meeting.  Now  the  hour  had  arrived.  A 
glowing  crimson  overspread  the  face  of  the  young  Princess ;  and  her 
hand  trembled  as  she  took  the  light  and  opened  the  secret  door  to  the 
corridor.  She  stood  btill  for  a  moment,  hesitating  ;  then,  ashamed  of 
her  irresolution,  she  crossed  the  corridor  and  ascended  the  small  stair- 
case which  led    to  the  tower  chamber.     With  a  hasty  movement  she 


133 

pushed  opened  the  door  and  entered  the  room.  She  was  at  the  end  of 
her  jouruey,  and  Thomas  Seymour  was  already  there. 

As  she  saw  him  an  involuntary  trepidation  came  over  her,  and  for 
the  first  time  she  now  became  conscious  of  her  hazardous  step. 

As  Seymour,  the  ardent  young  man,  approached  her  with  a  passion- 
ate salutation,  she  stepped  shyly  hack  and  pushed  away  his  hand. 

How  !  you  will  not  allow  me  to  kiss  your  hand  1  asked  he,  and  she 
thought  she  observed  on  his  face  a  slight  scornful  smile.  You  make  me 
the  happiest  of  mortals  by  inviting  me  to  this  interview,  and  now  you 
stand  before  me  rigid  and  cold,  and  I  am  not  once  permitted  to  clasp 
you  in  my  arms.  Elizabeth'? 

Elizabeth  !  He  had  called  her  by  her  first  name  without  her  having 
given  him  permission  to  do  so.  That  offended  her.  In  the  midst  of 
her  confusion,  that  aroused  the  pride  of  the  Princess,  and  made  her 
aware  how  much  she  must  have  forgotten  her  own  dignity,  when  an- 
other could  be  so  forgetful  of  it. 

She  wished  to  regain  it.  At  this  moment  she  would  have  given  a 
year  of  her  life  if  she  had  not  taken  this  step;  if  she  had  not  invited 
the  Earl  to  this  meeting. 

She  wanted  to  try  and  regain  in  his  eyes  her  lost  position,  and  again 
to  become  to  him  the  Princess. 

Pride  in  her  was  still  mightier  than  love.  She  meant  her  lover  should 
at  the  same  t  iue  bow  before  her  as  her  favored  servant. 

Therefor  she  gravely  said  :  Earl  Thomas  Seymour,  you  have  often 
begged  us  fur  a  private  conversation ;  we  now  grant  it  to  you  !  Speak, 
then  !   what  matter  of  importance  have  you  to  bring  before  us? 

And  with  an  air  of  gravity  she  stepped  to  an  easy  chair,  on  which 
she  seated  herself  slowly  and  solemnly  like  a  queen,  who  gives  audience 
to  her  vassals. 

Poor,  innocent  child,  that  in  her  unconscious  trepidation  wished  to 
intrench  herself  behind  her  grandeur,  as  behind  a  shield,  which  might 
conceal  her  maidenly  fear  and  girlish  anxiety  ! 

But  Thomas  Seymour,  however,  divined  her  thoughts  ;  and  his  proud 
and  cold  heart  revolted  against  this  child's  attempt  to  defy  him. 

He  wanted  to  humble  her;  he  wanted  to  compel  her  to  bow  before 
him.  and  implore  his  love  as  a  gracious  gift. 

He,  therefore,  bowed  low  to  the  Princess,  and  respectfully  said  :  Your 
Highness,  it  is  true  I  have  often  besought  you  for  an  audience  ;  but  you 
have  so  long  refused  me,  that  at  last  I  could  no  longer  summon  up 
courage  to  solicit  it;  and  I  let  my  wish  be  silent  and  my  heart  dumb. 
Therefore  seek  not  now*  when  these  pains  have  been  subdued,  to  excite 
them  again.  My  heart  should  remain  dead,  my  lips  mute.  You  have 
have  so  willed  ;  and  I  have  submitted  to  your  will.  Farewell,  then, 
Princess,  and  may  your  days  be  happier  and  more  serene  than  those  of 
poor  Thomas  Seymour  ! 

He  bowed  low  before  her,  and  then  went  slowly  to  the  door.  He 
had  already  opened  it  and  was  about  to  step  out,  when  a  hand  was  9ud- 


J34 

denly  laid  on  his  shoulder  and  drew  him   with  vehement  impetuosity 
back  into  the  room. 

Do  you  want  to  go?  asked  Elizabeth  with  fluttering  breath  and  trem- 
bling voice.  You  want  to  leave  me,  and,  flouting  me,  you  want  now, 
it  may  be,  to  go  to  the  Duchess  of  Richmond,  your  mistress,  and  relate 
to  her  with  a  sneer,  that  the  Princess  Elizabeth  grauted  you  an  inter- 
view, and  that  you  have  flouted  her? 

The  Duchess  of  Richmond  is  not  my  mistress,  said  the  Earl  ear- 
nestly. 

No,  not  your  mistress;  but  she  will  very  soon  be  your  wife  ! 

She  will  never  be  my  wife  ! 

And  why  not  ? 

Because  I  do  not  love  her,  Princess  ! 

A  beam  of  delight  passed  over  Elizabeth's  pale,  agitated  face.  Why 
do  you  call  me  Princess?  asked  she. 

Because  you  have  come  as  a  Princess  to  favor  your  poor  servant  with 
an  audience.  But,  ah,  it  would  be  greatly  abusing  your  princely  grace 
did  I  want  to  protract  this  audience  still  further.  1  therefore  retire, 
Princess ! 

And  he  again  approached  the  door.  But  Elizabeth  rushed  after  .him, 
and  laying  hold  of  his  amis  with  both  hands,  she  wildly  pushed  him 
back. 

Her  eyes  shot  lightning;  her  lips  trembled;  a  passionate  warmth 
was  manifested  in  her  whole  being.  Now  she  was  the  true  daughter  of 
her  father,  inconsiderate  and  passionate  in  her  wrath,  destroying  in  her 
ferocity. 

You  shall  not  gO,  muttered  she  with  her  teeth  firmly  set,  I  will  not 
let  you  go  !  1  will  not  let  you  confront  me  any  longer  with  that  cold, 
smiling  face.  Scold  me ;  cast  on  me  the  bitterest  reproaches,  be- 
cause I  have  dared  brave  you  so  long ;  curse  me,  if  you  can.  Any- 
thing but  this  smiling  calmuess.  It  kills  me  ;  it  pierces  my  heart  like 
a  dagger.  For  you  see  well  enough  that  I  have  no  longer  the  power  to 
withstand  you  ;  you  see  well  enough  that  I  love  you.  Yes,  I  love  you 
to  ecstacy  and  to  desperation ;  with  desire  and  dread.  I  love  you  as  my 
demon  and  my  angel.  I  am  angry,  because  you  have  so  entirely  crushed 
the  pride  of  my  heart.  I  curse  you,  because  you  have  made  me  so  entirely 
your  slave;  and  the  next  moment  I  fall  on  my  knees  and  beseech  God 
to  forgive  me  this  crime  against  you.  1  love  you,  I  say — not  as  these 
soft,  gentle  hearted  women  love,  with  a  smile  on  the  lip  ;  but  with  mad- 
ness and  desperation,  with  jealousy  and  wrath.  I  love  you  as  my  father 
loved  Anne  Bole)n,  whom,  in  the  hatred  of  hi3  love  and  the  cruel  wrath 
of  his  jealousy,  he  made  to  mouut  the  scaffold,  because  he  had  been  told 
that  she  was  untrue  to  him.  Ah,  had  I  the  power,  1  would  do  as  my  father 
did  ;  I  would  murder  you,  if  you  should  dare  ever  to  cease  to  love  me. 
And  now,  Thomas  Sejmour,  now  say  whether  you  have  the  courage  to 
desire  to  leave  me? 

She  looked  bewitching  in  the  flaming  might  of  her  passion ;  she  was 


I  :J5 

so  young,  so  ardent;  and  Thomas  Seymour  was  so  ambitious!  In  his 
eyes,  Elizabeth  was  not  merely  the  beautiful  charming  maiden,  who 
loved  him  j  she  was  in  ore  than  that:  she  was  the  daughter  of  Henry 
the  Eighth,  the  Princess  of  ttngland,  perchance  some,  day  the  heiress 
of  the  throne.  It  is  true,  her  father  had  disinherited  her,  and  by  act  of 
Parliament  declared  her  unworthy  of  succeeding  to  the  throne.*  But 
Henry's  vacillating  mind  might  change,  and  the  disowned  Princess 
mi»ht  one  day  become  Quern. 

The  Earl  thought  of  this  as  he  gazed  on  Elizabeth;  as  he  saw  her 
before  him,  so  charming,  so  young,  and  so  glowing  with  passion.  He 
thought  of  it  as  he  now  clasped  her  in  his  arms,  and  pressed  on  her  lips 
a  burning  kiss. 

No,  I  will  not  go,  whispered  he.  I  will  never  more  depart  from  your 
side,  if  you  do  not  wish  me  to  go.  I  am  yours! — your  slave,  your 
vassal;  and  I  will  never  be  anything  eKe  but  this  alone.  They  may* 
betray  me ;  your  father  may'punish  me  for  high  treason  ;  yet  will  I  exult 
in  my  good  fortune,  for  Elizabeth  loves  me,  and  it  will  be  for  Elizabeth 
that  I  die! 

Yuu  shall  not  die!  cried   she   clinging  fast  to  him.     You  shall  live, 
live  at  my  side,    proud,  great  and   happy  !     You   shall  be  my  lord  and 
my  master  ;  and  if  I  am  ever  Queen,  and   I  feel  here   in  my  heart  that 
'  I  must  become  so.  then  will  Thomas  Seymour  be  King  of  England. 

That  is  to  >.i\,  in  the  quiet  and  secrecy  of  your  chamber  I  should  per- 
haps  be  so  !  said  he  with  a  sigh.  But  there  without,  before  the  world, 
I  shall  still  be  ever  only  a  servant  ;  and,  at  the  best,  I  shall  be  called 
the  favoiite. 

Never,  never,  that  I  swear  to  you  !     Said  I  not  that  I  loved  you  ? 

But  the  love  of  woman  is  so  changeable  !  Who  knows  how  long  it 
will  be  before  you  will  tre»d  under  your  feet  poor  Thomas  Seymour, 
when  once  the  crown  has  adorned  your  brow. 

She  looked  at  him  well  nigh  horrified.  Can  this  be,  then  ?  Is  it  pos- 
sible, that  one  can  forget  and  forsake  what  he  once  loved  ? 

Do  you  ask!  Elizabeth  ?.     Has  not  your  father  already  his  sixth  wife  •' 

It  is  true,  said  she,  as  mournfully  she  dropped  her  head  upon  her 
breast.  But  I,  said  she  after  a  pause,  1  shall  not  be  like  my  father  in 
that.  I  shall  love\ou  eternally  !  And  that  you  may  have  a  guaranty 
of  my  faithfulness,  I  offer  myself  to  you  as'your  wife. 

Astonished,  he  looked  inquiringly  into  her  excited,  glowing  face  !  He 
did  not  understand  her. 

But  she  continued  passionately  :  Yes.  you  bhall  be  my  lord  and  my 
husband!  Come,  my  beloved,  come  !  1  have  not  called  you  to  tnke 
upon  yourself  the  disgraceful  role  of  the  secret  lover  of  a  Princess. —  I 
have  called  you  to  be  my  husband.  I  wish  a  bond  to  unite  us  two,  that 
is  so  indissoluble  that  not  even  the  wrath  and  will  of  my  father,  but 
only  death  itself,  can  sever  it.  I  will  give  you  proof  of  my  love  and 
my  devotion  ;  and  you  shall  be  forced  to  acknowledge  that  I  truly  Jove 

•Burnet:  vol,  1,  p»geJ88. 


i3(; 

you.     Come,  my  beloved,  that  I  may  soon  hail  you  as  my  husband ! 

He  looked  at  her  as  though  petrified.     Whither  will  you  lead  me  ? 

To  the  private  chapel !  said  she  innocently.  1  have  written  Cranmer 
to  await  me  there  at  daybreak.     Let  us  hasten,  then  ! 

Cranmer!  You  have  written  to  the  Archbishop?  cried  Seymour 
amazed.  How1?  what  say  you?  Cranmer  awaits  us  in  the  private 
chapel ? 

Without  doubt  he  is  waiting  for  us,  as  I  have  written  him  to  do  so. 

And  what  is  he  to  do  ?     What  do  you  want  of  him  ? 

She  looked  at  him  in  astonishment.  What  do  1  want  of  him  ?  Why, 
that  he  may  marry  us  ! 

The  Earl  staggered  back  as  if  slunned.  And  have  you  written  him 
that  also? 

Nay,  indeed,  said  she  with  a  charming,  childlike  smile.  I  know  very 
•well  that  it  is  dangerous  to  trust  such  secrets  to  paper.  [  have  only 
written  him  to  come  in  his  official  robes,  because  1  have  an  important 
secret  to  confess  to  him. 

Oh,  God  be  praised  !     We  are  not  lost,  sighed  Seymour. 

But  how,  I  do  not  understand  you  ?  asked  she.  You  do  not  extend 
me  your, hand  ?     You  do  not  hasten  to  conduct  me  to  the  chapel  ? 

Tell  me,  1  conjure  you,  tell  me  only  this  one  thing:  Have  you  ever 
spoken  to  the  Archbishop  of  your — no — of  our  love  !  Have  you  ever 
betrayed  to  him  so  much  as  a  syllable  of  that  which  stirs  our  hearts? 

She  blushed  deeply  beneath  the  steady  gaze  which  he  fixed  on  her. 
Upbraid  me,  Seymour,  whispered  she.  But  my  heart  was  weak  and 
timorous;  and  as  often  as  I  tried  to  fulfil  the  holy  duty,  and  confess 
everything  honestly  and  frankly  to  the  Archbishop,  1  could  not  do  it ! 
The  word  died  on  my  lips ;  and  it  was  as  though  an  invisible  power 
paralyzed  my  tongue 

So  then,  Cranmer  knows  nothing? 

No,  Seymour,  he  knows  nothing  yet!  But  now  he  shall  learn  all ; 
now  we  will  go  before  him  and  tell  him  that  we  love  each  other,  and 
constrain  him,  by  our  prayers,  to  bless  our  union  and  join  our  hands. 

Impossible  !  cried  Seymour.     That  can  never  be  ! 

How  ?     What  do  you  say  ?  asked  she  in  astonishment. 

1  say  that  Cranmer  will  never  be  so  insane,  nay,  so  criminal,  as  to 
fulfill  your  wish.     1  say  that  you  can  never  be  my  wife. 

She  looked  him  full  and  square  in  the  face.  Have  you  not  then  told 
me  that  \ou  love  me  ?  asked  she.  Have  I  not  sworn  to  you  that  I  love 
you  in  return?  Must  we  then  not  be  married,  in  order  to  sanctify  the 
union  of  our  hearts  ? 

Seymour  sunk  his  eyes  to  the  ground  before  her  pure  innocent  look, 
and  blushed  for  shame.  She  did  not  understand  this  blush  ;  because  he 
was  silent,  she  deemed  him  convinced. 

Come,  said  she,  come  ;  Cranmer  is  waiting  for  us ! 

He  again  raised  his  eyes  and  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  Do  you 
not  see,  then,  this  is  all  only  a  dream  that  can  never  become  reality  ? 


137 

Do  you  not  feel  that  this  precious  fantasy  of  your  great  and  noble  heart 
will  never  be  realized?  How?  are  you  then  so  little  acquainted  with 
your  father  as  not  to  know  that  he  would  destroy  us  both  if  we  should 
dare  thus  to  set  at  naught  his  paternal  and  his  royal  authority  ?  Your 
birth  would  not  secure  you  from  his  destroying  fury,  for  you  well  know- 
he  is  unyielding  and  reckless  in  his  wrath;  and  the  voice  of  consan- 
guinity sounds  not  so  loud  in  him  that  it  would  not  be  drowned  by  the 
thunder  of  his  wrath.  Poor  child,  you  have  learned  that  already  !  Re- 
member with  what  cruelty  he  has  already  revenged  himself  on  you  for 
the  pretended  fault  of  your  mother ;  how  he  transferred  to  you  his 
wrath  against  her.  Remember  that  he  refused  )our  hand  to  the  Dau- 
phin of  France,  not  for  the  sake  of  your  happiness,  but  because  he  said 
you  were  not  worthy  of  so  exalted  a  position.  Anne  Boleyn's  bastard 
could  never  become  Queen  of  France.  And  after  such  a  proof  of  his 
cruel  wrath  against  you,  will  you  dare  cast  in  his  face  this  terrible  in- 
sult?— compel  him  to  recognize  a  subject,  a  servant,  as  his  son  ? 

Oh,  this  servant  is,  however,  the  brother  of  a  Queen  of  England  ! 
said  she  shyly  !  My  father  loved  Jane  Seymour  too  warmly  not  to  for- 
give her  brother. 

Ah,  ah,  you  do  not  know  your  father !  He  has  no  heart  for  the  past ; 
or  if  he  has,  it  is  only  to  take  vengeance  for  an  injury  or  a  fault,  but 
not  to  reward  love.  King  Henry  would  be  capable  of  sentencing  Anne 
Boleyn's  daughter  to  death,  and  of  sending  to  the  block  and  rack  Cath- 
arine Howard's  brothers,  because  these  two  Queens  once  grieved  him 
and  wounded  his  heart;  but  he  would  not  forgive  me  the  least  offence 
on  account  of  my  being  the  brother  of  a  Queen  who  loved  him  faith- 
fully and  tenderly  till  her  death.  But  I  speak  not  of  myself.  I  am  a 
warrior,  and  have  too  often  looked  death  in  the  face  to  fear  him  now. 
I  speak  only  of  you,  Elizabeth.  You  have  no  right  to  perish  thus. 
This  noble  head  must  not  be  laid  upon  the  block.  It  is  destined  to  wear 
a  royal  crown.  A  fortune  still  higher  than  love  awaits  you — fame  and 
power!  I  must  not  draw  you  away  from  this  proud  future.  The 
Princess  Elizabeth,  though  abused  and  disowned, .may  yet  one  day  mount 
the  throne  of  England.  The  Countess  Seymour  never !  she  disinherits 
herself.  Follow  then  your  high  destiny.  Earl  Seymour  retires  before 
a  throne. 

That  is  to  say,  you  disdained  me?  asked  she  angrily  stamping  the 
floor  with  her  foot.  That  is  to  say,  the  proud  Earl  Seymour  holds  the 
bastard  too  base  for  his  coronet !     That  is  to  say,  you  love  me  not ! 

No,  it  means|that  1  love  you  more  than  myself — better  and  more  pure- 
ly than  any  other  man  can  love   you ;  for  this  love  is  so  great  that  it . 
makes  my  selfishness  and  my  ambition  silent,  and  allows  me   to  think 
only  of  you  and  your  future. 

Ah,  sighed  she  mournfully,  if  you  really  loved  me,  you  would  not 
consider — you  would  not  see  the  danger,  nor  fear  death.  You  would 
think  of  nothing,  and  know  nothing,  save  love. 

Because  1  think  of  love,  I  think  of  you,  said  Seymour.     I  think  that 


you  are  lo  move  along  over  the  world,  great,  powerful  and  glorious,  and 
that  I  will  lend  you  my  arm  for  this.  1  think  of  this,  thatjny  queen  of 
the  future  needs  a  general  who  will  win  victories  for  her,  and  that  1  will 
be  that  general.  But  when  this  goal  is  reached  ;  when  you  are  queen  ; 
then  you  have  the  power  fioin  one  of  your  subjects  to  make  a  husband  ; 
then  it  rests  with  your  own  will  to  elevate  me  to  be  the  proudest,  the 
happiest,  and  the  most  enviable  of  all  men.  Extend  me  your  hand  then, 
and  I  will  thank  and  praise  God  that  he  is  so  gracious  to  me  ;  and  my 
whole  existence  will  be  spent  in  the  effort  to  give  you  the  happiness 
that  you  are  so  well  entitled  to  demand. 

And  until  then?  asked  she  mournfully. 

Until  then,  we  will  be  constant,  and  love  each  other !  cried  he,  as  he 
tenderly  pressed  her  in  his  arms. 

She  gently  repelled  him.     Will  you  also  be  true  to  me  till  then  ? 

True  till  death  ! 

They  have  told  me  that  you  would  marry  the  Duchess  of  Richmond, 
in  order  thereby  to  at  length  put  an  end  to  the  ancient  hatred  between 
the  Howards  and  Seymours. 

Thomas  Seymour  frowned  and  his  countenance  grew  dark.  Believe 
me,  this  hatred  is  invincible,  said  he;  and  no  matrimonial  alliance  could 
wash  it  away.  It  is  an  inheritance  from  many  years  in  our  families; 
and  [  am  firmly  resolved  not  to  renounce  my  inheritance.  I  shall  just 
us  little  marry  the  Duchess  of  Richmond,  as  Henry  Howard  will  my 
sister,  the  Countess  of  Shrewsbury. 

Swear  that  to  me  !  Swear  to  me,  that  you  say  the  truth,  and  that 
this  haughty  and  coquettish  Duchess  shall  never  be  your  wife.  Swear 
it  to  me,  by  all  that  is  sacred  to  you  ! 

I  swear  it  by  my  love!  exclaimed  Thomas  Seymour  solemnly. 

1  s-hall  then  at  least  have  one  sorrow  the  less,  sighed  Elizabeth.  I 
shall  have  no  occasion  to  be  jealous.  And  is  it  not  true,  she  then  said, 
is  it  not  true,  we  shall  often  see  each  other?  We  will  both  keep  this 
secret  of  this  tower  faithfully  and  sacredly;  and  after  days  full  of  pri- 
vation and  disappointment,  we  will  here  keep  festival  the  nights  full  of 
blissful  pleasure  and  sweet  transport.     But  why  do  you  smile,  Seymour  ? 

I  smile,  because  you  are  pure  and  innocent  as  an  angel,  said  he  as  he 
reverently  kissed  her  hand.  I  smile  because  you  are  an  exalted,  god-l:ke 
child,  whom  one  ought  to  adore  upon  his  knees,  and  to  whom  one  ought 
to  pray,  as  to  the  chaste  goddess  Vesta  !  Yes,  my  dear,  beloved  child, 
here  we  will,  as  you  say,  pass  nights  full  of  blissful  pleasure ;  and  may 
I  be  reprobate  and  damned,  if  I  should  ever  be  capable  of  betraying  this 
sweet,  guileless  confidence,  with  which  you  favor  me,  and  sully  your 
angel  purity ! 

A.h,  we  will*  be  very  happy,  Seymour  !  said  she  smiling.  1  lack  only 
one  thing ! — a  friend,  to  whom  I  can  tell  my  happiness,  to  whom  I  can 
speak  of  you.  Oh,  it  often  seems  to  me  as  if  this  love,  which  must  al- 
ways be  concealed,  always  shut  up,  must  at  last  burst  my  breast;  as  if 
this  secret  must  with  violence  break  a  passage,  and  roar  like  a  tempest 


L39 

over  the  whole  world.     Seymour,  I  w.tnt  a  confidant  of  my   happiness 
and  my  love. 

Guard  yourself  well  against  desiring  to  seek  such  a  one  !  exclaimed 
Seymour  anxiously.  A  secret  that  three  know,  is  a  secret  no  more  ;  and 
o*e  day  your  confidant  will  betray  us. 

Not  so ;  I  know  a  woman  who  would  be  incapable  of  that — a  woman 
who  loves  me  well  enough  to  keep  my  secret  as  faithfully  as  1  myself; 
a  woman  who  could  be  more  than  merely  a  confidant,  who  could  be  the 
protectress  of  our  love.  Oh,  believe  me,  if  we  could  gain  her  to  our 
side,  then  our  future  would  be  a  happy  and  blessed  one,  and  we  might 
easily  succeed  in  obtaining  the  King's  consent  to  our  marriage. 

And  who  is  this  woman  ? 

It  is  the  Queen. 

The  Queen  ?  cried  Thomas  Seymour,  with  such  an  expression  of  hor- 
ror that  Elizabeth  trembled  ;  the  Queen  your  coufidant?  But  that  is 
impossible  !  That  would  be  plunging  us  both  inevitably  into  ruin.  Un- 
happy child,  be  very  careful  not  to  mention  even  but  a  word,  a  syllable 
of  your  relation  to  me.  Be  very  careful  not  to  betray  to  her,  even  by 
the  slightest  intimation,  that  Thomas  Seymour  is  not  indifferent  to  you  ! 
Ah,  her  wrath  would  dash  to  pieces  you  and  me ! 

And  why  do  you  believe  that?  asked  Elizabeth  gloomily.  Why  do 
you  suppose  that  Catharine  would  fly  into  a  passion  because  Earl  Sey 
mour  loves  me]  Or  how? — It  is  she  perhaps,  that  you  love,  and  you 
dare  not  therefore  let  h*er  know  that  you  have  sworn  your  love  to  me 
also  ?  Ah,  I  now  see  through  it  all ;  I  understand  it  all !  You  love  the 
Queen, — her  only.  For  that  reason  you  will  not  go  to  the  chapel  with 
me;  for  that  reason  you  swore  that  you  would  not  marry  the  Dutchess 
of  Kichmondj;  and  therefore — oh,  my  presentiment  did  not  deceive  me — 
therefore  that  frantic  furious  ride  in  Epping  Forest  to-day.  Ah,  the 
Queen's  horse  must  of  course  become  raving,  and  run  away,  that  his 
lordship,  the  Master  of  Horse,  might  follow  his  lady,  and  with  her  get 
lost  in  the  thicket  of  the  woods! — And  now,  said  she  her  eyes  flashing 
with  anger,  and  raising  her  hand  to  heaven  as  if  taking  an  oath,  now  I 
say  to  you  :  Take  heed  to  yourself!  Take  heed  to  yourself,  Seymour, 
that  you  do  not  even  by  a  single  word,  or  a  single  syllable  betray  your 
secret,  for  that  word  would  crush  you  !  Yes,  I  feel  it,  that  I  am  no 
bastard,  that  1  am  my  father's  own  daughter;  1  feel  it  in  this  wrath  and 
this  jealousy,  that  rages  within  me!  Take  heed  to  yourself,  Seymour, 
for  1  will  go  hence  and  accuse  you  to  the  King,  and  the  traitor's  head 
will  fall  upon  the  scaffold  !  0 

She  was  beside  herself.  With  clenched  fists  and  a  threatening  air,  she 
paced  the  room  up  and  down.  Tears  gushed  from  her  eyes;  but  she 
shook  them  out  of  her  eyelashes,  so  that  they  fell  scattering  about  her 
like  pearls.  Her  father's  impetuous  and  untractable  nature  stirred  with- 
in her ;  and  his  blood  seethed  in  her  veins. 

But  Thomas  Seymour  had  already  regained   his  selfcommand  and 


140 

composure.  He  approached  the  Priucess  and  despite  her  struggles 
clasped  her  in  his  arms. 

Little  fool  !  said  he  between  his  kisses.  Sweet,  dear  fool,  how  beau- 
tiful you  are  in  your  anger  and  how  I  love  you  for  it.  Jealousy  is  be- 
coming to  love  ;  and  1  do  not  complain,  though  you  are  unjust  and  criftl 
towards  me.  The  Queen  is  much  too  cold,  and  proud  a  heart,  ever  to 
be  loved  by  any  man.  Ah,  only  to  think  this,  is  already  treason  to  her 
virtue  and  modesty  ;  and  surely  she  has  not  deserved  this  from  us  two, 
that  we  should  disdain  and  insult  her.  She  is  the  first  that  has  always 
been  just  to  you  ;  and  to  me  she  has  ever  been  only  a  gracious  mistress ! 

It  is  true,  murmured  Elizabeth  completely  ashamed,  she  is  a  true  friend 
and  mother ;  and  I  have  her  to  thank  for  my  present  position  at  this 
Court. 

Then,  after  a  pause,  she  said,  smiling  and  extending  her  hand  to  the 
Earl :  You  are  right.  It  would  be  a  crime  to  suspect  her  ;  and  I  am  a 
fool.  Eorgive  me,  Seymour,  forgive  my  absurd  and  childish  anger  ;  and 
1  promise  you  in  return  to  betray  our  secret  to  no  one,  not  even  to  the 
Queen.  * 

Do  you  swear  that  to  me  ? 

1  swear  it  to  you  !  and  I  swear  to  you  more  than  that :  I  will  never 
again  be  jealous  of  her. 

Then  you  do  but  simple  justice  to  yourself  and  to  the  Queen  also,  said 
the  Earl  with  a  smile,  as  he  drew  her  again  to  his  arms. 

But  she  pushed  him  gently  back.  1  must  now  away.  The  morning 
dawns  and  the  Archbishop  awaits  me  in  the  royal  chapel. 

And  what  will  you  say  to  him,  beloved1? 

I  will  make  my  confession  to  him  ! 

How  !  so  you  will  then  betray  our  love  to  him  % 

Oh,  said  she  with  a  bewitching  smile,  that  is  a  secret  between  us  and 
God  ;  and  only  to  him  alone  can  we  confess  it ;  because  he  alone  can 
absolve  us  from  it.  Farewell  then,  Seymour,  farewell,  and  think  of  me 
till  we  see  each  other  again  !     But  when — say,  when  shall  we  meet  again  ? 

When  there  is  a  night  like  this  one,  beloved,  when  the  moou  is  not  in 
the  heavens. 

Oh,  then  I  could  wish  that  there  were  a  change  of  the  moon  every 
week,  said  she  with  the  charming  innocence  of  a  child.  Farewell,  Sey- 
mour, farewell ;  we  must  part. 

She  clung  to  his  tall,  sturdy  form  as  the  ivy  twines  around"  the  truuk 
of  the  oak.  Then  they  parted.  The  Priucess  slipped  again  softly  and 
unseen  into  her  apartments,  and  thence  into  the  royal  chapel ;  the  Earl 
descended  again  the  spiral  staircase  which  led  to  the  secret  door  to  the 
garden. 

Unobserved  and  unseen  he  returned  to  his  palace ;  even  his  valet,  who 
slept  in  the  ante- room,  did  not  see  it,  as  the  Earl  crept  past  him  lightly 
on  his  toes,  and  betook  himself  to  his  sleeping-room. 

But  no  sleep  came  to  his  eyes  that  night,  and  his  soul  was  restless 


J41 

and  full  of  fierce  torment.  He  was  angry  with  himself,  and  accused  him- 
self of  treachery  and  perfidy  ;  and  then  again,  full  of  proud  haughtiness, 
he  still  tried  to  excuse  himself  and  tf>  silence  his  conscience,  which  was 
sitting  in  judgment  on  him. 

1  love  her — her  only  !  said  he  to  himself.  Catharine  possesses  my 
heart,  my  soul  ;  I  am  ready  to  devote  my  whole  life  to  her.  Yes,  1  love 
her !     I  have  this  day  so  sworn  to  her ;  and  she  is  mine  for  all  eternity  ! 

And  Elizabeth  1  asked  his  conscience.  Have  you  not  sworn  truth 
and  love  to  her  also? 

No  !  said  he.  I  have  only  received  her  oath  ;  I  have  not  given  her 
mine  in  return.  And  when  I  vowed  never  to  marry  the  Duchess  of 
Richmond  ;  when  I  swore  this  "  by  my  love,"  then  I  thought  only  of 
Catharine — of  that  proud,  beautiful,  charming  woman,  at  once  maidenly 
and  voluptuous;  but  not  of  this  young,  inexperienced,  wild  child — of  this 
unattractive  little  Princess ! 

But  this  Princess  may  one  day  become  a  Queen,  whispered  his  am- 
bition. 

That,  however,  is  very  doubtful,  replied  he  to  himself.  But  it  is  cer- 
tain lhat  Catharine  will  one  day  be  the  Regent,  and  if  I  am»at  that  time 
her  husband,  then  I  am  Regent  of  England. 

That  was  the  secret  of  his  duplicity  and  his  double  treachery.  Thomas 
Seymour  loved  nothing  but  himself,  nothing  but  his  ambition.  He  was 
capable  of  risking  his  life  for  a  woman ;  but  for  renown  and  greatness 
he  would  have  gladly  sacrificed  this  woman. 

For  him  there  was  only  one  aim,  one  struggle :  to  become  great  and 
powerful  above  all  the  nobles  nf  the  kingdom — to  be  the  first  man  in 
England.  And  to  reach  this  aim,  he  would  be  afraid  of  no  means  ;  he 
would  shrink  from  no  treachery  and  no  sin. 

Like  the  disciples  of  Loyola,  he  said  in  justification  of  himself,  the 
end  santifies  the  means. 

And  thus  for  him  every  means  was  right  which  conducted  him  to  the 
end  ;  that  is  to  say,  to  greatness  and  glory. 

He  "was  firmly  convinced  that  he  loved  the  Queen  ardently  ;  and  in 
his  nobler  hours  he  did  really  love  her.  Depending  on  the  moment,  a 
son. of  the  hour,  in  him  feeling  and  will  varied  with  the  rapidity  of  light- 
ning, and  he  was  ever  wholly  and  completely  that  with  which  the  mo- 
ment inflamed  him. 

When,  therefore,  he  stood  before  the  Queen,  he  did  not  lie  when  he 
swore  that  he  loved  her  passionately.  He  really  loved  her,  with  double 
warmth,  since  she  had  to  his  mind  in  some  sort  identified  herself  with 
his  ambition.  He  adored  her,  because  she  was  the  means  that  might 
conduct  him  to  his  end  ;  because  she  might  some  day  hold  in  her  hands 
the  sceptre  of  England.  And  on  the  day  when  this  came  to  pass,  he 
wished  to  be  her  lover  and  her  lord.  She  had  accepted  him  as  her  lord, 
and  he  was  entirely  certain  of  his  future  sway. 

Consequently  he  loved  the  Queen,  but  his  proud  and  ambitious  heart 
could  never  be  so  completely  animated  by  one  love,  as  that  there  should 


142 

not  be  room  in  it  for  a  second,  provided  this  second  love  presented  him 
a  favorable  chance  for  the  attainment  of  the  aim  of  his  life. 

Princess  Elizabeth  had  this  chance.  And  if  the  Queen  would  certain- 
ly become  one  day  Regent  of  England,  yet  Elizabeth  might  some  day 
perchance  become  Queen  thereof.  Of  course  it  was  as  yet  only  a  per- 
haps, but  one  might  manage  out  of  this  perhaps  to  make  a  reality.  Be- 
sides, this  young,  passionate  child  loved  him,  and  Thomas  Seymour  was 
himself  too  young  and  too  easily  excitable  to  be  able  to  despise  a  love 
that  presented  him  with  such  enticing  promises,  and  bright  dreams  of 
the  future. 

It  does  not  become  man  to  live  for  love  alone,  said  he  to  himself  as 
he  now  thought  over  the  events  of  the  night.  He  must  struggle  for  the  . 
highest  and  wish  to  reach  the  greatest,  and  no  means  of  attaining  this 
end  ought  he  to  leave  unemployed.  Besides,  my  heart  is  large  enough 
to  satisfy  a  two-fold  love.  1  love  them  both  ;  both  of  these  fair  women 
who  fetch  me  a  crown.  Let  fate  decide  to  which  of  the  two  I  shall  one 
day  belong ! 


END  OF  VOL.  I. 


48 


HENRY  VIII  AND  HIS  COURT, 


OR, 


CATHARINE  PARR. 


%  historical  $M 


BY  L.  M.UHLBACH. 


lFrom  t&c  ffirrman, 
BY  RET.  H.  N.  PIERCE,  D.  D 


VOLUME  H. 


MOBILE: 
S.  EL  GOETZEL,  PUBLISHER. 

1865. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1864,  by 

S.  H.  GOETZEL, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Alabama, 

for  the  Confederate  States  of  America. 


HENRY  VIII.  AND  HIS  COURT. 


CHAPTER,  I. 

HENRT    HOWARD,    EARL    OF    SCRRET. 

The  great  Court  festival  so  long  expected  was  at  last  to  take  placo 
today.  Kuights  and  Lords  were  preparing  for  the  tournament ;  poets 
and  scholars  for  the  feast  of  the  poets.  For  the  witty  and  brave  Kino- 
wished  to  unite  the  two  in  this  festival  today,  in  order  to  give  the  world 
a  rare  and  great  example  of  a  King  who  could  claim  all  virtue  and  wis- 
dom as  his  own  ;  who  could  be  equally  great  as  a  hero  and  as  a  divine  ■ 
equally  great  as  a  poet  and  as  a  philosopher  and  scholar. 

The  Knights  were  to  fight  for  the  honor  of  their  ladies ;  the  poets 
were  to  sing  their  songs,  and  John  Heywood  to  bring,out  his  merry 
farces.  Aye,  even  the  great  scholars  were  to  have  a  part  in  this  festi- 
val; for  the  King  had  specially,  for  this,  summoned  to  London  from 
Cambridge,  where  he  was  then  Professor  in  the  University,  his  former 
teacher  in  the  Greek  language,  the  great  scholar  Croke,  to  whom  belonged 
the  merit  of  having  first  made  the  learned  world  of  Germany,  as  well 
as  of  England,  again  acquainted  with  the  poets  of  Greece  *  He  wished 
to  recite  with  Croke  some  scenes  from  Sophocles  to  his  wondering  Court ; 
and  though,  to  be  sure,  there  was  no  one  there  who  understood  the  Greek 
tongue,  yet  all,  without  doubt,  must  be  enraptured  with  the  wonderful 
music  of  the  Greek   and  the  amazing  erudition  of  the  King. 

Preparations  were  going  on  everywhere ;  arrangements  were  being 
made;  every  one  was  making  his  toilet,  whether  it  were  the  toilet  of 
the  mind,  or  of  the  body. 

Henry  Howard,  Earl  of  Surrey,  made  his  also  ;  that  is  to  say,  he  had 
retired  to  his  cabinet,  and  was  busy  filiDg  away  at  the  sonnets,  which 
he  expected  to  recite  today,  and  in  which  he  lauded  the  beauty  and  the 
grace  of  the  fair  Geraldine. 

He  had  the  paper  in  his  hand,  and  was  lying  on  the  velvet  ottoman 
which  stood  before  his  writing  table. 

Had  Lady  Jane  Douglas  seen  him  now,  she  would  have  been  filled 
•TtUw,  r*f«90r. 


with  painful  rapture  to  observe  how,  with  head  leaned  back  on  the 
cushion,  his  large  blue  eyes  raised  dreamily  to  heaven,  he  smiled  and 
whispered  ger tie -words. 

He  was  wholly  absorbed  in  sweet  reminiscenses ;  he  was  thinking  of 
those  rapturous,  blessed  hours,  which  he  a  few  days  before  had  spent 
with  his  Geraldine,  and  as  he  thought  of  them  he  adored  her  ;  and  he 
repeated  to  her  anew  in  his  mind  his  oath  of  eternal  love  and  inviolable 
truth.  * 

His  enthusiastic  spirit  was  completely  filled  with  a  sweet  melancholy  ; 
and  he  felt  perfectly  intoxicated  by  the  magical  happiness  afforded  him  . 
by  his  Geraldine. 

She  was  his — his  at  last !  After  struggles  so  long  and  painful  ;  after 
such  bitter  renunciation,  and  such  mournful  resignation,  happiness  had 
at  last  arisen  for  him  ;  the  never  expected  had  at  last  become  indeed  a 
reality.  Catharine  loved  him.  With  a  sacred  oath  she  had  sworn  to 
him  that  she  would  one  day  become  his  wife ;  that  she  would  become 
his  wife  before  God  and  man. 

But  when  is  the  day  to  come  on  which  he  may  show  her  to  the  world 
as  his  consort  1  When  will  she  be  at  length  relieved  from  the  burden 
of  her  royal  crown?  When  at  length  will  fall  from  her  those  golden 
chains  that  bind  her  to  a  tyrannical  and  bloodthirsty  husband;  to  the 
cruel  and  arrogant  King  1  When  will  Catharine  at  length  cease  to  be 
Queen,  in  order  to  become  Lady  Surrey  ? 

Strange  !  As  he  asked  himself  this,  there  ran  over  him  a  shudder,  and 
an  unaccountable  dread  fell  upon  his  soul. 

It  seemed  to  him  as  if  a  voice  whispered  to  him  :  "  Thou  wilt  never 
live  to  see  that  day  !  The  King,  old  as  he  is,  wil'  nevertheless  live 
longer  than  thou!  Prepare  thyself  to  die,  for  death  is  already  at  thy 
door !" 

And  it  was  not  the  first  time  that  he  had  heard  that  voice.  Often 
before  it  had  spoken  to  him,  and  always  with  the  same  words,  the  same 
warning.  Often  it  seemed  to  him  in  his  dreams  as  if  he  felt  a  cutting 
pain  about  the  neck ;  and  he  had  seen  a  scaffold,  from  which  his  own 
head  was  rolling  down. 

Henry  Howard  was  superstitious;  for  he  was  a  poet,  and  to  poets  it 
is  given  to  perceive  the  mysterious  connexion  between  the  visible  and 
the  invisible  world  ;  to  believe  that  supernatural  powers  and  invisible 
forms  surround  man,  and  either  protect  him,  or  else  curse  him. 

There  were  hours  in  which  he  believed  in  the  reality  of  his  dreams ; 
in  which  he  did  not  doubt  of  that  melancholy  and  horrible  fate  which 
they  foretold. 

Formerly  he  had  given  himself  up  to  it  with  smiling  resignation ; 
but  now,  since  he  loved  Catharine,  since  she  belonged  to  him — now  he 
would  not  die.  Now,  when  'life  held  out  to  him  its  most  enchanting 
enjoyments,  its  intoxicating  delights — now  he  would  not  leave  them — 
now  he  dreaded  to  die.  He  was,  therefore,  cautious  and  prudent ;  and 
knowing  the  King's  malicious,  savage  and  jealous  character,  he  had  al-% 


ways  been  extremely  careful  to  avoid  everything  that  might  excite  him, 
that  might  arouse  the  royal  hyena  from  his  slumbers. 

But  it  seemed  to  him  as  though  the  King  bore  him  and  his  family  a 
special  spite;  as  though  he  could  never  forgive  them,  that  the  consort, 
whom  he  most  loved,  and  who  had  the  most  bitterly  wronged  him,  had 
sprung  from  their  stock.  In  the  King's  every  word,  and  every  look, 
Henry  Howard  felt  and  was  sensible  of  this  secret  resentment  of  the 
King ;  he  suspected  that  Henry  was  only  watching  for  the  favorable 
moment  when  he  could  seiie  and  strangle  him. 

He  was  therefore  on  his  guaid.  For  now,  when  Geraldine  loved  him, 
his  life  belonged  no  longer  to  himself  alone  ;  she  loved  him  ;  she  had  a 
claim  on  him  ;  his  days  were,  therefore,  hallowed  in  his  own  eyes. 

So  he  had  kept  silence  under  the  petty  annoyances  and  vexations  of 
the  King.  He  had  taken  it  even  without  murmuring,  and  without  de- 
manding satisfaction,  when  the  King  had  suddenly  recalled  him  from  the 
army  that  was  fighting  against  France,  and  of  which  he  was  commander- 
in-chief,  and  in  his  stead  had  sent  Lord  Hertford,  Earl  of  Sudley.  to  the 
army  which  was  encamped  before  Boulogne  and  Montreuil.  He  had 
quietly  and  without  resentment  returned  to  his  palace;  and  since  he 
could  no  longer  be  a  general  and  warrior,  he  became  again  a  scholar  and 
poet.  His  palace  was  now  again  the  resort  of  the  scho'ars  and  writers 
of  England  ;  and  he  was  always  .ready,  with  true  princely  munificence, 
to  assist  oppressed  and  despised  talent ;  to  afford  the  persecuted  scholar 
an  asylum  in  his  palace.  He  it  was  who  saved  the  learned  Fox  from 
starvation,  and  took  him  into  his  house,  where  Horatius  Junius  and  the 
poet  Churchyard,  afterwards  so  celebrated,  had  both  found  a  home — the 
former  as  his  physician  and  the  latter  as  his  page.* 

Love,  the  arts  and  the  sciences,  caused  the  wounds  that  the  King  had 
given  his  ambition,  to  heal  over  ;  and  he  now  felt  no  more  rancor  ;  now 
he  almost  thanked  the  King.  For  to  his  recall  onl\  did  he  owe  his  good 
fortune;  and  Henry,  who  wished  to  injure  him,  had  given  him  his  sweet- 
est pleasure. 

He  now  smiled  as  he  thought  how  Henry,  who  had  taken  from  him 
the  batoon,  had,  without  knowing  it,  given  him  in  return  his  own  Queen, 
and  had  exalted  him,  when  he  wished  to  humble  him. 

He  smiled,  and  again  took  in  hand  the  poem  in  which  he  wished  to 
celebrate  in  song,  at  the  Court  festival  that  day,  the  honor  and  praise  of 
his  lady-love,  who  no  one  knew,  nor  even  suspected — the  fair  Geraldine. 

The  verses  are  stiff,  muttered  he  ;  this  lauguage  is  so  poor  !  It  has 
not  the  power  of  expressing  all  that  fulness  of  adoration  and  ee 
which  I  feel.  Petrarch  was  more  fortunate  in  this  re>pect.  Hi--  beauti' 
ful,  flexible  language  sounds  like  music,  and  it  is,  even  just  by  itself,  the 
harmonious  accompaniment  of  his  love.  Ah,  Petrarch,  I  envy  thee,  and 
yet  would  not  be  like  thee.  For  thine  was  a  mournful  and  bitter  sweet 
lot.  Laura  never  loved  thee  ;  and  she  was  the  mother  of  twelve  child- 
ren, not  a  single  one  of  whom  belonged  to  thee. 

*  Nott'i  Life  of  (he  Earl  of  Surrey. 


G 

He  laughed  with  a  sense  of  his  own  proud  success  in  love,  and  seized 
Petrarch's  sonnets,  which  lay  near  him  on  the  table,  to  compare  his  own 
new  sonnet  wiih  a  similar  one  of  Petrarch's. 

He  was  so 'absorbed  in  these  meditations,  that  he  had  not  at  all  observ- 
ed that  the  hanging,  which  concealed  the  door  behind  him,  was  pushed 
aside,  and  a  marvellous  young  woman,  resplendent  with  diamonds  and 
sparkling  with  jewelry,  entered  his  cabinet. 

For  an  instant  she  stood  still  upon  the  threshold,  and  with  a  smile 
observed  the  Earl,  who  was  more  and  more  absorbed  in  his  reading. 

She  was  of  imposing  beauty  ;  her  large  eyes  blazed  and  glowed  like 
a  volcano ;  her  lofty  brow  seemed  in  all  respects  designed  to  wear  a 
crown.  And,  indeed,  it  was  a  ducal  coronet  that  sparkled  on  her  black 
hair,  which  in  long  ringlets  curled  down  to  her  full,  voluptuous  shoulders. 
Her  tall  and  majestic  form  was  clad  in  a  white-satin  dress,  richly  trim- 
med with  ermine  and  pearls;  two  clasps  of  costly  brilliants  held  fast  to 
her  shoulders  the  small  mantilla  of  crimson  velvet,  faced  with  ermine, 
which  covered  her  back  and  fell  down  to  her  waist. 

Thus  appeared  the  Duchess  of  Richmond,  the  widow  of  King  Henry's 
natural  son,  Henry  Richmond  ;  the  sister  of  Lord  Henry  Howard,  Earl 
of  Surrey  ;  and  the  daughter  of  the  noble  Duke  of  Norfolk. 

Since  her  husband  died  and  left  her  a  widow  at  twenty,  she  resided  in 
her  brother's  palace  and  had  placed  herself  under  his  protection,  and  in 
the  world  they  were  known  as  '  the  affectionate  brother  and  sister." 

Ah,  how  little  knew  the  world,  which  is  ever  wont  to  judge  from  ap- 
pearances, of  the  hatred  and  the  love  of  these  two  ;  how  little  suspicion 
had  it  of  the  real  sentiments  of  this  brother  and  sister ! 

Henry  Howard  had  offered  his  sister  his  palace  as  her  residence,  be- 
cause he  hoped  by  his  presence  to  lay  on  her  impulsive  and  voluptuous 
disposition  a  restraint  which  should  compel  her  not  to  overstep  the 
bounds  of  custom  and  decency.  Lady  Richmond  had  accepted  this  offer 
of  his  palace  because  she  was  obliged  to  ;  inasmuch  as  the  avaricious  and 
parsimonious  King  gave  his  son's  widow  only  a  meagre  income,  and  her 
own  means  she  had  squandered  and  lavishly  thrown  away  upon  her 
lovers. 

Henry  Howard  had  thus  acted  for  the  honor  of  his  name ;  but  he 
loved  not  his  sister ;  nay,  he  despised  her.  But  the  Duchess  of  Rich- 
mond hated  her  brother,  because  her  proud  heart  felt  humbled  by  him, 
and  under  obligations  to  gratitude. 

But  their  hatred  and  their  contempt  were  a  secret  that  they  both  pre- 
served in  the  depths  of  the  heart,  and  which  they  scarcely  dared  confess 
to  themselves.  Both  had  veiled  this  their  inmost  feeling  with  a  show  of 
affection,  and  only  once  in  a  while  was  one  betrayed  to  the  other  by 
some  lightly  dropped  word,  or  unregarded  look. 


CHAPTER  II. 

BROTHER    AND    SISTER. 

Lightly  oii  the  tips  of  her  toes,  the  Duchess  stole  towards  her  brother, 
who  did  not  yet  observe  her.  The  thick  Turkish  carpet  made  her  steps 
inaudible.  She  already  stood  behind  the  Earl,  and  he  had  not  yet  no- 
ticed her.  • 

Now  she  bent  over  his  shoulder,  and  fastened  her  sparkling  eyes  on 
the  paper  in  her  brother's  hand. 

Then  she  read  in  a  loud,  sonorous  voice  the  ti'lc  of  it:  "  Com- 
plaint, because  Geraldine  never  shows  herself  to  her  lover  unless  cov- 
ered by  her  veil."*  Ah,  ^>aid  the  Duchess  laughing,  now  then  I  have 
spied  out  your  secret,  and  you  must  surrender  to  me  at  discretion.  So 
you  are  to  love;  and  Geraldine  is  the  name  of  the  chosen  one  to  whom 
you  address  your  poems  ?  I  swear  to  you,  my  biother,  you  will  repay 
me  dear  for  this  secret. 

It  is  no  secret  at  all,  sister,  said  the  Earl  with  a  quiet  smile,  as  he 
rose  from  the  divan  and  saluted  the  Duchess.  It  is  so  little  a  secret 
that  I  shall  recite  this  sonnet  at  the  Court  festival  this  very  evening.  I 
shall  not,  therefore,  need  your  secrecy,  Rosabella. 

So  the  fair  Geraldine  never  shows  herself  to  you  unless  in  a  dark 
veil,  black  as  the  night,  said  the  Duchess  musingly.  But  tell  me, 
brother,  who  then  is  the  fair  Geraldine?  Of  the  ladies  at  Court,  I  know 
not  a  single  one  who  bears  that  name. 

So  you  see  from  that,  the  whole  is  only  a  fiction — a  creation  (5f  my 
fancy. 

No,  indeed,  said  she  smiling  ;  one  does  not  write  with  such  warmth 
and  enthusiasm  unless  he  is  really  in  love.  You  sing  your  lady-love, 
and  you  give  her  another  name.  That  is  very  plain  !  Do  not  deny  it, 
Henry,  for  I  know  indeed  that  you  have  a  lady-love.  It  may  be  read 
in  your  eyes.  And  look  you  !  it  Hon  account  of  this  dear  one  that  I 
have  come  to  you.  It  pains  me,  Henry,  that  you  have  no  confidence 
in  me,  and  allow  me  no  sham  in  your  joys  and  sorrows.  Do  you  not 
know,  then,  how  tenderly  I  love  you.  my  dear,  noble  brother? 

She  put  her  arm  tenderly  round  his  neck,  and  wanted  to  ki»s  him. 
He  bent  his  head  back,  and  laying  his  hand  on  her  rosy,  round  chin,  he 
looked  inquiringly  and  smilingly  into  her  eyes. 

You  want  something  of  me,  Kosabella!  said  he.  I  have  never  yet 
enjoyed  your  tenderness  and  sisterly  affection,  except  when  you  needed 
mv  services. 

*  lkm»»t  by  Sarrty.    3««  HotCi  Lite  tod  W«rk«  ef  Krr«y. 


How  suspicious  you  are !  cried  she  with  a  charming  pout,  as  she 
shook  his  hand  away  from  her  face.  1  have  come  from  wholly  disin- 
terested sympathy;  partly  to  warn  you,  partly  to  find  out  whether 
your  love  is  perchance  fixed  upon  a  lad)  that  would  render  my  warn- 
ing useless. 

Well,  so  you  see,  Rosabella,  that  I  was  right,  and  that  your  tender- 
ness was  not  aimless.  Now  then,  you  want  to  warn  me?  I  have 
yet  to  learn  that  I  need  any  warning. 

Nay,  brother !  For  it  would  certainly  be  very  dangerous  and  mis- 
chievoos  for  you,  if  your  love  should  chance  not  to  be  in  accordance  with 
the  command  of  the  King. 

A  momentary  flush  spread  over  Henry  Howard's  face,  and  his  brow 
darkened.  . 

With  the  King's  command  ?  asked  he  in  astonishment.  I  did  not 
know  that  Henry  the  Eighth  could  control  my  heart.  And,  at  any  rate, 
1  would  never  concede  him  that  right.  Say  quickly,  then,  sister,  what 
is  it?  What  means  this  about  the  King's  command,  and  what  matri 
monial  scheme  have  you  women  been  again  contriving1?  For  1  well 
know,  that  you  and  mv  mother  have  no  rest  with  the  thought  of  seeing 
me  still  unmarried  !  You  want  to  bestow  on  me,  whether  or  no,  the 
happiness  of  marriage ;  yet,  nevertheless,  it  appears  to  me,  that  you 
both  have  sufficiently  learned  from  experience  that  this  happiness  is 
only  imaginary,  and  that  marriage  in  reality  is,  at  the  very  least,  the 
vestibule  of  hell. 

It  is  true,  laughed  the  Duchess ;  the  only  happy  moment  of  my  mar- 
lied  life  was  when  my  husband  died.  For  in  that  1  am  more  fortunate 
than  my  mother,  who  has  her  tyrant  still  living  about  her.  Ah,  how 
1  pity  my  mother  ! 

Dare  not  to  revile  our  noble  father !  cried  the  Earl  almost  threat- 
eningly. God  alone  knows  how  much  he  has  suffered  from  our 
mother,  and  how  much  he  still  suffers.  He  is  not  to  blame  for  this 
unhappy  marriage.  But  you  have  not  come  to  talk  over  these  sad 
and  disgraceful  family  matters,  sister !  You  wish  to  warn  me,  did 
you  say  ? 

Yes,  warn  you  !  said  the  Duchess  tenderly,  as  she  took  her  brother's 
hand  and  led  him  to  the  ottoman.  Come,  let  us  sit  down  here,  Henry, 
and  let  us  for  once  chat  confidentially  and  cordially,  as  becomes  brother 
and  sister.     Tell  me,  who  is  Geraldine? 

A  phantom,  an  ideal  !     I  have  told  you  that  already. 

You  really  love  then  no  lady  at  this  Court? 

No,  none !  There  is  among  all  these  ladies,  with  whom  the  Queen 
has  surrounded  herself,  not  one  whom  I  am  able  to  love. 

Ah,  your  heart  then  is  free,  Henry-;  and  you  will  be  so  much  the 
more  easily  inclined  to  comply  with  the  King's  wish. 

What  does  the  King  wish  ? 

She  laid  her  head  on  her  brother's  shoulder,,  and  said  in  a  low  whis- 
per :  That  the  Howard  and  Seymour  families  be  at  last  reconciled  ;  that 


at  last  they  may  reconcile  the  hatred,  which  has  for  centuries  separated 
them,  by- means  of'  a  linn  and  sincere  bond  of  love. 

Ah,  the  King  wants  that!  cried  the  Earl  scornfully.  Forsooth  now, 
he  hus  made  a  good  beginning  towards  bringing  about  this  reconciliation. 
He  has  insulted  me  before  all  Europe,  by  removing  me  frorft  my  com- 
mand and  investing  a  Seymour  with  my  rank  and  dignity;  and  he 
requires  that  I  in  return  shall  love  this  arrogant  Earl,  who  has  robbed  me 
of  what js  my  due:  who  has  long  intrigued  and  besieged  the  King's 
ear  with  lies  and  calumnies,  Vill  he  has  gained  his  end  and  supplanted  me. 

It  is  true  the  King  recalled  you  from  the  army  ;  but  this-  was  done  in 
order  to  give  you  the  first  place  at  his  Court — to  appoint  you  Lord 
Chamberlain  to  the  Queen. 

Henry  Howard  trembled  and  was  silent.  It  is  true,  he  then  mut- 
tered ;  I  am  obliged  to  the  King  for  this  place. 

And  then,  continued  the  Duchess  with  an  innocent  air,  then  I  do  not 
believe  either,  that  Lord  Hertford  is  to  blame  for  your  recall.  To  prove 
this  to  you,  he  has  made  a  proposal  to  the  King,  and  to  me  also,  which 
is  to  testify  to  you  and  to  all  the  world,  how  great  an  honor  Lord  Hert- 
ford esteems  it  to  be  allied  to  the  Howards,  and  above  all  things  to 
you,  by  the  most  sacred  bonds. 

Ah,  that  noble,  magnanimous  Lord,  cried  Henry  Howard,  with  a 
bitter  laugh.  As  matters  do  not  advance  well  with  laurels,  he  tries  the 
myrtles;  sinw  he  can  win  no  battles,  ho  wants  to  make  marriages. 
Now,  sister,  let  me  hear  what  he  has  to  propose. 

A  double  marriage,  Henry.  He  asks  my  hand  for  his  brother,  Thomas 
Seymour,  provided  you  choose  his  sister,  Lady  Margaret,  for  your  wife. 

Never!  cried  the  Earl.  Never  will  Henry  Howard  present  his  hand 
to  a  daughter  of  that  house ;  never  condescend  so  far  as  to  elevate  a 
Seymour  to  be  his  wife.  That  is  well  enough  for  a  King — not  for  a 
Howard  ! 

Brother,  you  insult  the  King ! 

Well,  I  insult  him  then  !  He  has  insulted  me,  too,  in  arranging  this 
base  scheme. 

Brother,  reflect;  the  Seymours  are  powerful,  and  stand  high  in  the 
King's  favor. 

Yes,  in  the  King's  favor,  they  stand  high !  But  the  people  knows 
their  proud,  cruel  and  arrogant  disposition  ;  and  people  and  nobility  de- 
spise them.  The  Seymours  have  the  voice  of  the  King  in  their  favor  ; 
the  Howards  the  voice  of  the  whole  country  ;  and  that  is  of  more  con- 
sequence. The  King  can  exalt  the  Seymours,  for  they  stand  far  beneath 
him.  He  cannot  exalt  the  Howards,  for  they  are  his  equals.  Nor  can 
he  degrade  them.  Catharine  died  on  the  scaffold — the  King  became 
thereby  only  a  hangman — our  escutcheon  was  not  sullied  by  that  act ! 

These  are  very  proud  words,  Henry  ! 

They  become  a  son  of  the  Norfolks,  Rosabella  !  Ah,  see  that  petty 
Lord  Hertford,  Earl  Seymour.  He  covets  a  ducal  coronet  for  his  sis- 
ter.    He  wants  to  give  her  to  me  to  wife  ;  for  as  soon  as  our  poor  father 


1U 

dies,  I  wear  his  coronet !  The  arrogant  upstarts !  For  the  sister's 
escutcheon,  my  coronet ;  for  the  brother's,  your  coronet.  Never,  say  I, 
shall  that  be ! 

The  Duchess  ha*d  become  pale,  and  a  tremor  ran  through  her  proud 
form.  Her  eyes  flashed,  and  an  angry  word  was  already  suspended  on 
her  lips  ;  but  she  still  held  it  back.  She  violently  forced  herself  to 
calmness  and  self  possession. 

Consider  onoe  more,  Henry,  said  she ;  do  not  decide  at  once.  You 
speak  of  our  greatness  ;  but  you  do  not  b&ar  in  mind  the  power  of  the 
Siymours.  4  tell  you,  they  are  powerful  enough  to  tread  us  in  the  dust, 
despite  all  our  greatness.  And  they  are  not  only  powerful  at  the  pres- 
ent ;  they  will  be  so  in  the  future  also ;  for,  it  is  well  known  in  what 
disposition  and  way  of  thinking  the  Prince  of  Wales  is  trained  up. 
The  King  is  old,  weak  and  failing ;  death  lurks  behind  his  throne,  and 
will  soon  enough  press  him  in  his  anns.  Then,  lidward  is  King.  With 
him,  the  heresy  of  protestantism  triumphs  ;  and  however  great  and  nu- 
merous our  party  may  be,  yet  we  shall  be  powerless  and  subdued. 
Yes,  we  shall  be  the  oppressed  and  persecuted. 

We  shall  then  know  how  to  fight,  and  if  it  must  be  so,  to  die  also  ! 
cried  her  brother.  It  is  more  honorable  to  die  on  the  battlefield,  than 
to  purchase  life  by  humiliation. 

Yes,  it  is  honorable  to  die  on  the  field  of  battle  ;  but,  Henry,  it  is 
a  disgrace  to  come  to  an  end  upon  the  scaffold.  And  that,  my  brother, 
may  be  your  fate,  if  you  do  not  this  time  bend  your  pride  ;  if  you  do 
•not  grasp  the  hand  that  Lord  Hertford  extends  to  you  in  reconciliation, 
but  mortally  offend  him.  He  will  take  bloody  vengeance,  when  once 
he  comes  into  power. 

Let  him  do  it,  if  he  can  !  my  life  is  in  God's  hand  !  My  head  belongs 
to  the  King,  but  my  heart  to  myself;  and  that  I  will  never  degrade  to 
merchandise,  which  1  may  barter  for  a  little  security  and  royal  favor. 

Brother,  I  conjure  you,  consider  it !  cried  the  Duchess,  no  longer  able 
to  restrain  her  passionate  disposition,  and  -all  ablaze  in  her  savage  wrath. 
Dare  not  in  proud  arrogance  to  destroy  my  future  also  !  You  may  die 
on  the  scaffold,  if  you  choose  ;  but  1 — I  will  be  happy  ;  I  will  at  last, 
after  so  many  years  of  sorrow  and  disgrace,  have  my  share  of  life's  joys 
also.  It  is  my  due,  and  I  will  not  relinquish  it ;  and  you  shall  not  be 
allowed  to  tear  it  from  me.  i  Know  then,  my  brother,  I  love  Thomas 
Seymour ;  all  my  desire,  all  my  hope  is  fixed  on  him  ;  and  I  will  not 
tear  this  love  out  of  my  heart;  I  will  not  give  him  up. 

Well,  if  you  love  him,  marry  him  then  !  exclaimed  her  brother.  Be- 
come the  wife  of  this  Thomas  Seymour  !#  Ask  the  Duke,  our  father,  for 
his  consent  to  this  marriage,  and  1  am  certain  he  will  not  refuse  you,  for 
he  is  prudent  and  cautious,  and  will,  better  than  I,  calculate  the  advan- 
tages which  a  connexion  with  the  Seymours  may  yield  our  family. 
Do  that,  sister,  and  marry  your  dearly  beloved.    I  do  not  hinder  you  ! 

Yes,  you  do  hinder  me;  you  al'rne!  cried  his  sister  flaming  with 
wrath.     Yoq  will  refuse  Margaret's  hand  ;  you  will  give  the  Seymours 


H 

mortal  offence.  You  thereby  make  my  union  with  Thomas  Seymour 
impossible!  In  the  proud  selfishness  of  your  haughtiness,  you  see  not 
that  you  are  dashing  to  atoms  my  happiness,  while  yon  are  thinking  on- 
ly of  your  desire  to  offend  the  Seymours.  But  I  tell  you  :  I  love  Thom- 
as Seymour — nay,  I  adore  him.  He  is  my  happiness,*  my  future,  my 
eternal  bliss.  Therefore  have  pity  on  me,  Henry  !  Grant  me  this  hap- 
piness, which  I  implore  you  for  as  Heaven's  blessing.  Prove  to  me 
that  you  love  me,  and  are  willing  to  make  this  sacrifice  for  me.  Henry, 
on  my  knees,  I  conjure  you  !  Give  me  the  man  I  love  ;  bend  your  proud 
head  ;  become  Margaret  Seymour's  husband,  that  Thomas  Seymour  may 
become  mine. 

She  had  actually  sunk  upon  her  knees;  and  her  face  deluged  with 
tears,  bewitchingly  beautiful  in  her  passionate  emotion,  9he  looked  up 
imploringly  to  her  brother. 

But  the  Earl  did  not  lift  her  up ;  on  the  contrary,  with  a  smile,  he  fell 
back  a  step.  How  long  is  it  now,  Duchess,  asked  he  mockingly, -since 
you  swore  that  your  secretary,  Mr.  Wilford,  was  the  man  whom  you 
loved  1  Positively,  1  believed  you — I  believed  it  till  lone  day  found  you 
in  the  arms  of  your  page.  On  that  day,  I  swore  to  myself  never  to  be- 
lieve you  again,  though  you  vowed  to  me,  with  an  oath  ever  so  sacred, 
that  you  loved  a  man.  Well  now,  you  love  a  man  ;  but  what  one,  is  a 
matter  ufinuifr.-rcnce.  To-day  his  name  i>  Thomas,  to  morrow  Archi- 
bald, or  Eo\\..id,as  you  please! 

For  the  fit st  time  the  Earl  drew  the  veil  away  from  his  heart,  and  let 
his  sister  see  all  the  contempt  and  anger  that  he  felt  towards  her. 

The  Duchess  also  felt  wounded  by  his  words,  as  by  a  red  hot  iron, 

She  sprung  up  from  her  knees;  and  with  flurried  breath,  with  looks 
flashing  with  rage,  every  muscle  of  her  countenance  convulsed  and  tremb- 
ling, there  she  stood  before  her  brother. 

She  was  a  woman  no  more;  she  was  a  lioness,  that  without  compas- 
sion or  pity,  will  devour  him  who  has  dared  irritate  her. 

Earl  of  Surrey,  you  are  a  shameless  wretch,  said  she  with  compressed, 
quivering  lips.  Were  I  a  man,  I  would  slap  you  in  the  face,  and  call 
you  a  scoundrel.  But  by  the  eternal  God,  you  shall  not  say  that  you 
have  done  this  with  impunity  !  Once  more,  and  for  the  last  time,  I  now 
ask  you  :  Will  you  comply  with  Lord  Hertford's  wish  1  Will  you  mar- 
ry Lady  Margaret  and  accompany  me  with  Thomas  Seymour  to  the 
altar ! 

No,  I  will  not,  and  1  will  never  do  it!  exclaimed  her  brother  solemn,- 
ly.  The  Howards  bow  not  before  the  Seymours;  and  never  will  Hen 
ry  Howard  marry  a  wife  that  he  does  not  love  ! 

Ah,  you  love  her  not !  said  she  breathless,  gnashing  her  teeth,  You 
do  not  love  Lady  Margaret;  and  for  this  reason  must  your  sister  re- 
nounce her  love,  and  give  up  this  man  whom  she  adores.  Ah,  you  love 
not  this  sister  of  Thomas  Seymour  ?  She  is  not  the  Gerald ine  whom 
you  adore — to  whom  you  dedicate  your  verses  ?  Well  now,  1  will  find 
her  out — your  Geraldine.     I  will  discover  her :  and   then,  woe  to  you 


\i 

and  to  her !  You  refuse  me  your  hand  to  lead  me  to  the  altar  with 
Thomas  Seymour;  well  now,  1  will  one  day  extend  you  my  hand  to 
conduct  you  and  your  Gerald ine  to  the  scaffold  ! 

And  as  she  saw  how  the  Earl  startled  and  turned  pale,  she  continued 
with  a  scornful  laugh  :  Ah,  you  shiink,  and  horror  creeps  over  )  ou  ! 
Does  your  conscience  admonish  you  that  the  hero,  rigid  in  virtue,  may 
yet  sometimes  make  a  false  step?  You  thought  to  hide  )our  secret,  if 
you  enveloped  it  in  the  veil  of  night,  like  your  Geraldine,  who,  as  you 
wailingly  complain  in  that  poem  there,  never  shows  herself  to  you  with- 
out a  veil  as  black  as  night.  Just  wait,  wait!  1  will  strike  a  light  for 
you,  before  which  all  your  night-like  veils  shall  be  torn  to  shreds  ;  I  will 
light  up  the  night  of  your  secret  with  a  torch,  which  will  be  large  enough 
to  set  on  fire  the  fagot  piles  about  the  stake  to  which  you  and  your  Ger- 
aldine  are  to  go  ! 

Ah,  now  you  let  me  see  for  the  first  time  your  real  countenance,  said 
Henry  Howard  shrugging  his  shoulders.  The  angel's  mask  /alls  from 
your  face  ;  aud  I  behold  the  Fury  that  was  hidden  beneath  it.  Now 
you  are  your  mother's  own  daughter ;  and  at  this  moment  I  comprehend 
for  the-first  time  what  my  father  has  suffered,  and  why  he  shunned  not 
even  the  disgrace  of  a  divorce,  just  to  be  delivered  from  such  a  Megcera. 

Oh,  I  thank  you,  thank  you  !  cried  she  with  a  savage  laugh.  You 
are  filling  up  the  measure  of  your  iniquity.  It  is  not  enough  that  you 
drive  your  sister  to  despair  ;  you'ievile  yonr  mother  also!  You  say 
that  we  are  Furies;  well  indeed,  for  we  shall  one  day  be  such  to  you, 
and  we  will  show  you  our  Medusa-face,  before  which  you  will  be  stiff 
ened  to  stone.  Henry  Howard,  Earl  of  Surrey,  from  this  hour  out,  I 
am  your  implacable  enemy;  look  out  for  the  head  on  your  shoulders, 
for  my  hand  is  raised  against  it,  and  in  my  hand  is  a  sword!  Guard 
well  the  secret  that  sleeps  in  your  breast;  for  you  have  transformed 
me  to  a  vampyre  that  will  suck  }Our  heau's  blood.  You  have  reviled 
my  mother,  and  I  will  go  hence  and  tell  her  of  it.  She  will  believe  me ; 
for  she  well  knows  that  you  hate  her,  and  that  you  are  a  genuine  son  of 
your  father;  that  is  to  say,  a  canting  hypocrite,  a  miserable  fellow,  who 
carries  virtue  on  the  lips  and  crime  in  the  heart. 

('ease,  1  say,  cease,  cried  the  Earl,  if  you  do  not  want  me  to  forget 
that  you  are  a  woman  and  my  sister! 

Forget  it  by  all  means,  said  she  scornfully.  I  have  forgotten  long 
since  that  you  are  my  brother,  as  you  have  long  since  forgotten  that  you 
are  the  son  of  your  mother.  Farewell,  Earl  of  Surrey  ;  I  leave  you  and 
your  palace,  and  will  from  this  hour  out  abide  with  my  mother,  the  di- 
vorced wife  of  the  Duke  of  Norfolk.  But  mark  you  this:  we  two  are 
separated  from  you  in  our  love — but  not  in  our  hate!  Our  hatred  to 
you  remains  eternal  and  unchangeable  ;  and  one  day  it  will  crush  you ! 
Farewell,  Earl  of  Surrey  ;  we  meet  again  in  the  King's  presence  ! 

She  rushed  to  the  door — Henry  Howard  did  not  hold  her  back.  He 
looked  after  her  with  a  smile  as  she  left  the  cabinet,  and  murmured  al- 
most compassionately  :  Poor  woman  !     I  have  perhaps  cheated  her  out 


17 

nice  h;id  sent  the  King  as  ;i  wedding  gift,  and  which  reflected  the  figure 
of  the  Queen  sparkling  with  diamond*,  she  smiled  ;  for  she  was  obliged 
to  confess  to  herself  that  she  was  very  beautiful  to  day  :  and  &he  thought 
that  to-day  Thomas  Seymour  would  look  upon  his  love  with  pride. 

As  she  thought,  of  him,  a  deep  crimson  overspread  her  f\ce,  and  a 
thrill  flew  through  her  frame.  How  handsome  he  had  been  at  the  tour- 
nament that  day  ;  how  splendidly  he  leaped  over  the  barriers  ;  how  his 
eye  flashed;  how  contemptuous  b8d  been  his  smile!  And  then,  that 
look,  which  he  directed  over  to  her  at  the  moment  when  he  had  conquer- 
ed his  antagonist,  Henry  Howard,  and  hurled  the  lance  from  his  hand! 
Oh,  my  God  !  her  heart  was  ready  to  burst  with  delight  and  rapture  ! 

Whollv'given  up  to  her  revery,  she  sank  iu  her  gilded  arm-chair  and 
cast  her  eyes  to  the  ground,  dreaming  and  smiling. 

Behind  her  stood  her  women  in  respectful  silence,  waiting  for  u  sign 
from  their  mistress.  But  the  Queen  no  longer  thought  at  all  of  them  ; 
she  imagined  herself  alone  ;  she  saw  nobodj  but  that  handsome,  manly 
face,  for  which  she  had  reserved  a  place  in  her  heart. 

Now  the  door  opened,  and  Lady  Jane  Douglas  entered.  '  She,  too, 
was  magnificently  dressed, jland  sparkling  with  diamonds;  she,  too,  was 
beautiful,  but  it  was  the  pallid,  dreadful  beauty  of  a  demon;  and  ho 
who  looked  on  her  just  then,  as  she  entered  the  room,  would  have  trem- 
bled and  his  heart  would  have  been  seized  with  an  undefined  fear. 

She  threw  a  quick  glance  on  her  mistress  lost  in  revery  ;  and  as  she 
saw  that  her  toilet  was  finished,  she  made  a  sign  to  the  women,  who  si- 
lently obeyed,  and  left  the  room.  i 

Still  Catharine  noticed  nothing.  Lady  Jane  stood  behind  her  and  ob- 
served her  in  the  mirror.  As  she  saw  the  Queen  smile,  her  brow  dark- 
ened and  fierce  wrath  flashed  in  her  eyes. 

She  shall  smile  no  more,  said  she  to  herself.  I  suffer  thus  terribly  by 
her ;  well  now,  she  shall  suffer  too. 

Softly  and  noiselessly  she  slipped  into  the  next  room,  the  door  of 
which  stood  ajar,  and  opened  with  hurried  hand  a  carton  filled  with  rib- 
bons and  b<>ws.  Then  she  drew  from  the  velvet  pocket,  wrought  with 
pearls,  which  hung  at  her  side  suspended  by  a  gold  chain,  a  dark  red  ro- 
sette, and  threw  it  into  the  box.     That  was  all. 

Lady  Jane  now  returned  to  the  adjoining  mom  ;  and  her  countenance, 
which  had  been  previous!)  gloomy  and  threatening,  \\a^  now  proud  and 
joyful. 

With  a  bright  smile  she  walked  up  to  the  Queen,  and  kneeling  down 
at  her  side,  she  press- d  a  fervent  It i 33  on  the  hand  th.it  was  hanging 
down. 

What  is  my  Queen  musing  over1  asked  the,  as  she  laid  her  head  on 
Catharine's  knee  and  tenderly  looked  up  al  her. 

The  Queen   gave  a  slight  start,  and    raised  her  head.     !  Lady 

-  tender  smile,  and  her  yet  Bearohing  looks. 

she  fell  i  It,  at  leasl  of  guilty  thoughts,  she,  was 

on  her  guard,  and  remembered  John  He}  wood's  warning. 


18 

She  is  observing  me,  said  she  to  herself;  she  seems  affectionate  ;  so 
she  is  brooding  over  some  wicked  plot. 

Ah,  it  is  well  you  have  come,  Jane,  said  she  aloud.  You  can  help 
me ;  for  to  tell  you  the  truth,  1  am  in  great  perplexity.  I  am  in  want  of 
a  rtiyme,  and  I  am  thinking  in  vain  how  I  shall  rind  it. 

Ah,  aie  you  composing  poetry,  Queen  1 

Why,.  Jane,  does  that  surprise  you?  Shall  I,  the  Queen,  be  able  then 
to  bear  off  no  prize?  I  would  give  my  precious  jewels,  if  I  could  suc- 
ceed in  composing  a  poem  to  which  the.  King  was  obliged  to  award  the 
prize.  But  I  am  wanting  in  a  musical  ear;  !  cannot  find  the  rhyme,  and 
so  shall  be  obliged  at  last  to  give  up  the  idea  of  winning  la#rels  also. 
How  the  King  would  enjoy  it,  though!  For,  to  confess  the  truth  to 
you,  1  believe  he  is  a  little  afraid  that  Henry  Howard  will  bear  oil' the 
prize,  and  he  would  be  very  thankful  to  me  if  I  could  contest  it  with 
him.     You  well  know,  the  King  has  no  love  for  the  Howards. 

And  )0U,  Queen  ?  asked  Jane  ;  and  she  turned  so  pale  that  the  Queen 
herself  noticed  it. 

You  are  unwell,  Jane,  said  she  syrnpathizingly.  Really,  Jane,  you 
seem  to  be  suffering.     You  need  recreation  ;  you  should  rest  a  little. 

But  Jane  had  already  regained  her  calm  and  earnest  air,  and  she  suc- 
ceeded in  smiling. 

No,  indeed  !  said  she.  I  am  well  and  satisfied  to  be  permitted  to  be 
near  you.     But  will  you  allow  me,  Queen,  to  make  a  request  of  you  ? 

Ask,  Jane,  ask,  and  it  is  granted  beforeh  md  ;  for  1  know  that  Jane 
will  request  nothing  that  her  friend  cannot  grant. 

Lady.  Jane  was  silent  and  looked  thoughtfully  upon  the  ground. 
With  firm  resolution  she  struggled  with  herself.  Her  proud  heart  rear- 
ed fiercely  up  at  the  thought  of  bowing  before  this  woman,  whom  she 
hated,  and  of  being  obliged  to  approach  her  with  a  fawning  prayer.  She 
felt  such  raging  hate  against,  the  Queen,  that  in  that  hour  she  would  will 
ingly  have  given  her  own  life,  if  she  could  have  first  seen  her  enemy  at 
her  feet,  wailing  and  crushed. 

Henry  Howard  loved  the  Queen  ;  so  Catharine  had  robbed  her  of  the 
heart  of  him  whom  she  adored.  Catharine  had  condemned  her  to  the 
eternal  torment  of  renouncing  him. — to  the  rack  of  enjoying  a  happiness 
and  a  rapture  that  was  not  hers — to  warm  herself  at  a  fire  which  she  like 
a  thief  had  stolen  from  the  altar  of  another's  God. 

Catharine  was  condemned  and  doomed., 

Jane  had  no  more  compassion.     She  must  crush  her. 

Well,  asked  the  Queen,  you  are  silent?  You  do  not  tell  me  what  I 
am  to  grant  you  ? 

Lady  Jane  raised  her  eyes,  and  her  look  was  serene  and  peaceful. 
Queen,  said  she,  I  encountered  in  the  ante  room,  one  who  is  unhappy, 
deeply  bowed  down.  In  your  hand  alone  is  the  power  to  raise  him  up 
again.'     Will  you  do  it? 

Will  I  do  it !  exclaimed  Catharine  quickly-  Oh,  Jane,  you  well  know, 
how  much  my  heart  longs  to  help  atH  be  serviceable  to  the  unfortuuate  ! 


19 

Ah,  so  many  wounds  are  inflicted  at  this  Court,  an  J  the  Queen  is  so  poor 
in  balm  to  heal  them.  Allow  me  this  pleasure  then,  Jane,  and  I  shall 
be  thankful  to  you,  not  you  t<>  me  !  Speak  then,  Jane,  speak  quickly  ; 
who  is  it  that  needs  my  help] 

Not  your  help,  Queen,  but  your  compassion  and  your  grace.  Earl 
Sudley  has  conquered  poor  En!  Surrey  iu  the  tournament  today,  and 
you  comprehend  that  your  Lord  Chamberlain  feels  himself  deeply  bow- 
?d  and  humbled. 

Can  I  alter  i hat,  Jane?  Why  did  the  visionary  Earl,  the  enthusiastic 
poet,  allow  himself  in  a  content  wiih  a  herolwho  always  knows  what  ho 
wants,  and  ever  accomplishes  what  he  wills'?  Oh,  it  was  wonderful  to 
look  upon,  with  what  lightening  speed  Thomas  Seymour  lif  ed  him  out 
of  the  saddle*  And  tin-  ptou'd,  Earl  Surrey .  the  wi»e  and  learned  man,  the 
poweiful  party  leader,  was  foiced  to  bow  before  the  hero,  who  like  an 
angel  Michael  had  thrown  him  in  the  dust. 

The  Queen  laughed. 

That  laugh  went,  through  Jane's  heart  like  a  cutting  sword. 

She  shall  pay  me  for  that!  said  she  softly  to  her>.elf.  .Queen,  said 
she  aloud,  you  are  perfectly  right;  he  has  deserved' this  humiliation; 
but  now,  after  he  is  punished,  you  should  lift  him  up.  Nay,  do  not  shako 
your  beautiful  head.  Do  it/or  your  own  sake, 'Queen  ;  do  it  from  pru- 
dence. Earl  Sin  rev,  with  his  father,  is  the  head  of  a  powerful  party, 
whom  this  humiliation  of  the  Howards  fills  with  a  still  more  burning 
hate  against  me  Seymours,  and  who  will  in  time  to  come  take  a  bloody 
revenge  for  it. 

Ah,  you  frighten  me!  said  the  Queen,  who  had  now  become  serious. 

Lady  Jane  continued  :  1  saw  ho*'  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  bit  his  lips,  as 
his  son  had  to  yield  to  Seymour;  I  heard  how  one,  here  and  thercj  mut- 
tered low  curses  and  vows  of  vengeance  against  the  Seymours. 

Who  did  that?  Who  dared  do  it?  exclaimed  Catharine  springing  up 
impetuously  from  h^.r  arm  chair.  Who  at  this  Court  is  so  audacious  as 
to  wish  to  injure  those  whom  the  Queen  loves?  Name  him  to  me 
•fane;  1  will  know  his  name  !  1  will  kn  »w  it,  that  I  may  accuse  him  to 
the  King.  For  the  King  does  not  want  that  these  noble  Seymours 
should  give  way  to  the  Howards;  he  dm  s  nor,  want  that  the  nobler,  the 
better  and  more  glorious  should  bow  before  these  quarrelsome,  domineer- 
ing papists.  The  King  love*  the  noble  Seymours,  and  his  poweiful  arm 
will  protect  them  against  all  their  enemies. 

And,  without  doubt,  your  Majesty  will  assist  him  in  it?  faid  Jane 
smiling. 

This  smile  brought  the  Queen  back  to  her  senses  again. 

She  perceived  that  she  had  gone  too  far;  that  she  had  betrayed  too 
much  of  her  secret.     She  must,  t!  pair  the  damage,  and  allow 

her  excitement  to  be  f<»rgoit 

Therefore  sir-  said  calmly:  Certain';  the  King  to 

be  just.     But  never  will  I  be  unjust,  not  even  against  these  papists.     If 


20 

I  cannot  love  them,  nevertheless  no  one  shall  say  that  I  hate  them. 
And  besides,  it  becomes  a  Quetii  to  rise  above  parties.  Say  then',  Jane, 
what  can  I  do  for  poor  Surrey  ?  With  what  shall  we  bind  up  these 
wounds,  that  the  brave  Seymour  has  inflicted  on  him? 

You  have  publicly  given  the  victor  in  the  tournament  a  token  of  your 
great  favor — you  have  crowned  him. 

Jt  was  the  King's  order!  exclaimed  Catharine  warmly. 

Well!  H«  will  not,  however,  command  you  to  reward  the  Earl  of 
Surrey  also,  if  he,  likewi.se,|hould  gain  the  victory  this  evening.  Do  it, 
therefore,  of  your  own  accord.  Queen.  Give  him  openly,  before  your 
whoie  Court,  a  token  of  your  favor.  My  God,  it  is  so  easy  for  princes 
to  make  meu  happy,  to  comfort  the  unfortunate.  A  smile,  a  friendly 
word,  a  pressure  of  the  hand  is  sufficient  for  it.  A  ribbon  that  you  wear 
on  your  dress,  makes  him  to  whom  you  present  it  proud  and  happy,  and 
raises  him  high  above  all  others.  Ponder  it  well,  Queen  ;  I  speak  not 
for  Earl  Surrey's  sake;  I  am  thinking  more  of  yourself.  If  you  have 
the  courage,  publicly  and  in  spite  of  the  disgrace  with  which  King  Henry 
threatens  the  Howards,  to  be  nevertheless  just  to  them,  and  to  recognize 
their  merits  as  well  as  that  of  others — believe  me,  if  you  do  that,  the 
whole  of  this  powerful  party,  which  is  now  hostile  to  you,  will  fall  at 
your  feet  overcome  and  conquered.  You  »will  at  last  become  the  all- 
powerful  and  universally  loved  Queen  of  England  \  anc|  like  the  here- 
tic*, the  papists  also  will  call  you  their  mistress  arltl  protectress. 
Consider  no  longer !  Let  your  noble  and  generous  heart  prevail  ? 
Spiteful  fortune  has  prostrated  Henry  Howard  in  the  dust.  Extend 
him  your  hand,  Queen,  that  he  may  rise  again,  and  again  stand  there 
at  your  Court,  proud  and  radiant  as  he 'always  was.  Henry  Howard 
well  deserves  that  you  should  be  gracious  to  him.  Great  and  beaming 
like  a  star,  he  shines  on  high  above  all  men  ;  and  there  is  no  one  who 
can  say  that  he  nimself  is  more  prudent  or  braver,  wiser  or  more 
learned,  nobler  or  greater,  •  than  the  noble,  the  exalted  Surrey.  All 
England  resounds  with  his  fame.  The  women  repeat  with  enthusiasm 
his  beautiful  sonnets  and  love  songs;  the  learned  are  proud  to  call  him 
their  equal,  and  the  warriors  speak  with  admiration  of  his  feats  of  arms. 
Be  just,  then,  Queen  !  You  have  so  highly  honored  the  merit  of  valor ; 
now,  honor  the  merit  of  mind  also!  You  have  in  Seymour,  honored 
the  warrior  ;  now  in  Howard,  honor  the  poet  and  the  man  ! 

I  will  do- it,  said  Catharine,  as  with  a  charming  smile  she  looked 
into  Jane's  glowing  and  enthusiastic  countenance.  I  will  do  it,  Jane, 
but  upon  one  condition  ! 

And  this  condition  is  1 

Catharine  put  her  arm  around  Jane's  neck,  and  drew  her  close  to  her 
heart.  That  you  confess  to  me,  you  love  Henry  Howard,  whom  you 
know  how  to  defend  so  enthusiastically  and  warmly. 

Lad\-  Jane  uave  a  start,  and  for  a  moment  lent  her  head  on  the 
Queen's  shoulder  exhausted. 


21 

Well,  asked  she,  do  .you  confess  it?  Will  you  acknowledge  that 
your  proud,  cold  heait  is  obliged  to  declare  itself  overcome  and  con- 
quered ? 

Yes,  I  confess  it,  cried  Lady  Jane,  as  with  passionate  vehemence  she 
threw  herself  at  Catharine's  feet.  Yes.  1  love  him — I  adore  him.  f 
know  it  is  a  disdained  and  unhappy  love;  but  what,  would  you  have? 
My  heart  is  mightier  than  everything  else.  1  love  him;  he  is  my  god 
and  my  lord;  I  adore  him  as  my  saviour  and  lord.  Queen,  )  ou  know 
all  my  secret ;  betray  ,m«,  if  $ou  will!  Tell  it  to  my  father,  if  you 
wish  him  to  curse  me.  Tell  it  to  Henry  Howard,  if  it  pleases  you  to 
hear  how  he  scoffs  at  me.     For  he,  Queen — he  loves  me  not ! 

Poor  unfortunate  Jane!  exclaimed  the  Queen  compassionately. 

Jane  uttered  a  low  cry,  and  rose  from  her  knees.  That,  was  too 
much.  Her  enemy  commiserated  her.  She,  who  was  to  blame  for 
her  sorrow — she  bemoaned  her  fate. 

Ah,  she  could  have  strangled  the  Queen;  she  could  have  plunged  a 
dagger  into  her  heart,  because  she  dared  to  commiserate  her. 

1  have  complied  with  your  condition,  Queen,  said  she,  breathing  hur- 
riedly.    Will  you  now  comply  with  my  request? 

And  will  you  really  be  an  advocate  for  this  unthankful,  cruel  man, 
who  does  not  love  you  ?  Proudly  and  coldly  he  passes  your  beauty  by, 
and  you — you  inteicede  for  him  ? 

Queen,  tf.uv  lovi  thinks  not  of  itself;  it  sacrifices  itself!  It  makes 
no  question  ot"  the  reward  it  receives,  but  only  of  tho  happiness  which 
it  bestows.  I  saw  in  his  pale,  sorrowful  face,  how  much  he  suffered  ; 
ought  I  not  to  think  of  comforting  him  ?  1  approached  him,  1  addressed 
him  ;  I  heard  his  despairing  lamentation  over  that  misfortune,  which, 
however,  wrrs  not  the  fault  of  his  activity  and  courage,  but,  as  all  the 
world  saw,  the  fault  of  his  horse,  which  was  shy  and  stumbled.  And 
as  he,  in  all  the  bitterness  of  his  pain,  was  lamenting  that  you,  Queen, 
would  despise  and  scorn  him,  I,  with  full  trust  in  your  noble  and  mag- 
panffnotta  heart,  promised  Him  that  you  would,  at  my  request,  yet  give 
him  to  day,  before  your  whole  Court,  a  token  of  ^  our  favor.  Catharine, 
did  I  do  wrong  ? 

No,  Jane,  no!  You  did  right;  and  your  words  shall  be  made  good. 
But  how  shall  I  begin  ?     What  shall  I  do? 

The  Earl  this  evening,  after  the  King  has  read  the  Greek  scene  with 
Croke,  will  recite  some  new  sonnets  which  he  has  composed.  When 
he  has  Hone  so.  give  him  some  kind  of  a  present — be  it  what,  it  may, 
no  matter — as  a  token  of  your  fevor. 

But  how,  Jane,  if  his  sonnets  deserve  no  praise  and  no  acknou  ledg 
inent? 

You  may  be  sure  that  they  do  deserve  it.  For  Henry  Howard  is  a 
noble  and  true  poet,  and  his  verges  are  full  of  heavenly  melody  and 
exalted  thoughts. 

The  Queen  smiled.     Yes,  said  she,  you  love  him  ardently  ;  for  you 


have  no  doubt  as  to  him.  We  will,  therefore,  recognize  him  as  a  great 
poet.     But  with  what  shall  I  ie\vard  hi  in  ? 

Give  him  a  rose  that  3  ou  wear  in  )Our  bosom — a  rosette  that  is  fas- 
tened to  your  dress  and  shows  your  colors. 

But  alas,  Jane,  to-day  I  wear  neither  a  rose,  nor  a  rosette. 

Yet  you  can  wear  one,  Queen  !  A  rosette  is  indeed  wanting  here  on 
your  shoulder.  Your  purple  mantle  is  too  negligently  fastened.  We 
must  put  some  trimming  here. 

She  went  hastily  into  the  next  room  and  returned  with  the  box,  in 
■which  were  kept  the  Queen's  ribbons  embroidered  with  gold,  and  bows 
adorned  with  jewels. 

Lady  Jane  searched  and  selected,  here  and  there,  a  long  time.  Then 
she  took  the  crimson  velvet  rosette,  which  she'  Uerself  had  previously 
thrown  into  the  box,  and  showed  it  to  the  Queen. 

See;  it  is  at  the  same  time  tasteful  and  rich,  for  a  diamond  clasp 
confines  it  in  the  middle.  Will  you  allow  me  to  fasten  this  rosette  on 
your  shoulder,  and  will  you  give  it  to  the  Earl  of  Surrey -1 

Yes,  Jane,  I  will  give  it  to  him,  because  you  wish  it.  But,  poor  Jane, 
what  will  you  gain  by  my  doing  it  ? 

At  any. rate,  a  friendly  smile,  Queen. 

And  is  that  enough  for  ^ou  1     Do  you  love  him  so  much,  then  1 

Yes,  I  love  him  !  said  Jane  Douglas  with  a  sigh  of  pain,  as  she  fas- 
tened the  rosette  on  the  Queen's  shoulder. 

And  now,  Jane,  go  and  announce  to  the  Master  of  Ceremonies  that 
I  am  ready,  as  soon  as  the  King  wishes  it,  to  resort  to  the  gallery. 

Lady  Jane  turned  to  leave  the  chamber.  But  already  upon  the 
threshold,  she  returned  once  more. 

Forgive  me,  Queen,  for  venturing  to  make  one  more  request  of  you. 
You  have,  however,  just  shown  yourself  too  much  the  noble  and  true 
friend  of  earlier  days  fov  me  not  to  venture  one  more  request. 

Now,  what  is  it,  poor  Jane  ?  - 

1  have  entrusted  my  secret  not  to  the  Queen,  but  to  Catharine  Parr, 
the  friend  of  my  youth.  Will  she  keep  it,  and  betray  to  none  my  dis- 
grace and  my  humiliation  1 

My  word  for  that,  Jane.  Nobody  but  God  and  ourselves  shall  ever 
know  what  we  have  here  spoken. 

Lady  Jane  humbly  kissed  her  hand  and  murmured  a  few  words  of 
thanks ;  then  she  left  the  Queen's  room  to  go  in  quest  of  the  Master  of 
Ceremonies. 

In  the  Queen's  ante  room  she  stopped  a  moment,  and  leant  against  the 
wall  exhausted  and  as  it  were  crushed.  Nobody  was  here  who  could 
observe  and  listen  to  her.  She  had  no  need  to  smile,  no  need  to  conceal, 
beneath  a  calm  and  equable  appearance,  all  those  tempestuous  and  de- 
spairing feelings  which  were  working  within.  She  could  allow  her  hatrtd 
and  her  resentment,  her  rage  and  her  despair,  to  pour  forth  in  words 
and  gestures,  in  tears  and  imprecatious,  in  sobs  and  sighs.     She  could 


23 

ftill  ou  her  knees  and  beseech  God  for  grace  and  mercy,  and  call  on  the 
Devil  for  revenge  and  destruction. 

When  she'  had  so  done,  she  arose,  and  her  demeanor  resumed  its 
wonted  eold  and  calm  expression.  Only  her  cheeks  w.tre  still  pa  er ;  only 
a  still  gloomier  fire  darted  from  her  eyes,  and  a  scornful  smile  plaved 
about  her  thin,  compressed  lips'. 

She  traversed  the  rooms  and  corridors,  and  now  she  entered  the 
King's  ante.  room.  As  she  observed  Gardiner,  who  was  standing  alone 
and  separated  from  the  rest  in  the  embrasure  of  the  window,  she  went 
up  to  him;  and  John  Hey  wood,  who  was  still  hidden  behind  the  cur- 
tain, shuddered  at  the  frightful  and   scornful   expression  of  her  features. 

She  offered  the  Bishop  her  hand,  and  tried  to  smile,  it  is  done,  said 
she  almost  inaudibly. 

What1?     The  Queen  wears  the  rosette?  asked  Gardiuer  vivaciously. 

She  wears  the  rosette,  and  will  give  it  to  him. 

And  the  note  is  in  it? 

It  is  concealed  undefthe  diamond  claspTl        ',', 

Oh,  then  she  is  lost!  muttered  Gardiner.  If  the  King  finds  this  pa- 
per, Catharine's  death  warrant  is  signed. 

Hush!  said  Lady  Jane.  See!  Lord  Hertford  is  coming  towards  us. 
Let  us  go  to  m«ei  him ! 

They  both  left  the  window  and  walked  out  into  the  hall. 

John  Hey  wood  immediately  slipped  from  behind  the  curtain,  and, 
softly  gliding  along  by  the  wall,  left  the  hall  perceived  by  no  <  ne. 

Outside,  he  stopped  and  reflected. 

I  must  see  this  conspiracy  to  tha  bottom,  said  he  to  himself.  I  must 
find  out  through  whom  and  by  what  they  wish  to  destroy  her;  and  I 
must  have  sure  and  undeniable  proof  in  my  hands,  in  order  to  be  able 
to  convict  them,  and  successfully  accuse  them  to  the  King.  Therefore 
it  is  necessary  to  be  cautious  and  prudent.  So  let  us  consider  what  to 
do.  The  simplest  thing  would  be  to  beg  the  Queen  not  to  wear  the 
rosette.  But  that  is  only  to  demolish  the  web  for  this  time,  without, 
however,  being  able  to  kill  the  spider  that  wove  it.  So  she  must  wear 
the  rosette;  for  besides,  without  that  I  should  never  be  able  either  to 
find  out  to  whom  she  is  to  give  it.  But  the.  paper  that  is  concealed  in 
the  rosette — that  I  must  have — that  must  not  be  in  it.  "If  the  King 
finds  this  paper,  Catharine's  death-warrant  is  signed."  Now,  my  rev- 
erend priest  of  the  devil,  the  King  will  not  find  that  paper,  for  .lohn 
llevwood  will  not  have  it  so.  But  how  shall  I  begin?  Shall  1  tell  the 
Queen  what  I  heard?  No!  She  would  lose  her  cheerful  spirit  and  be- 
come embarrassed,  and  the  embarrassment  would  be  in  the  King's  eyes 
the  most  convincing  proof  of  her  guilt.  No,  I  roust  take  this  paper  out 
of  the  rosette  without,  the  Queen's  being  aware  of  it.  Boldly  to  work 
then  !  I  must  have  this  paper  and  tweak  these  hypocrites  by  the  nose. 
How  it  can  be  done,  it  is  n'ot  clear  to  me  yet;  but  1  will  do  it  —  that  is 
enough.     Halloo,  forward  to  the  Queen! 

With  precipitant  haste  he  ran  through  the  halls  and  corridors,  while 


2  4 

with  a'  smile  he  muttered  away  to  himself:  Thank  God,  I  enjoy  the 
houor  of  being  the  fool ;  fur  only  the  King  and  the  fool  have  the  privi 
lege  of  being  able  to  enter  unannounced  every  room,  even  the  Queen's. 

Catharine  was  alone  in  her  boudoir,  when  the  small  door,  through 
which  the  King  was  accusl  omed  to  resort  to  her,  was  softly  opened. 

Oh,  the  King  is  coming!  said  she,  walking  to  the  duor  to  greet  her 
husband.  ' 

Yes,  the  King  is  coming,  for  the  fool  is  already  here,  said  John  Iley- 
•wood,  who  entered  through  the  private  door.  Are  we  alone,  Queen  1 
Does  nobody  overhear  us? 

No,  Johu  Hey  wood,  we  are  all  alone.     What  do  you  bring  me! 

A  letter,  Queen. 

From  whom  ?  asked  she.  and  a  glowing  crimson  flitted  over  her  cheek. 

From  whom?  repeated  John  Heywood  with  a  waggish  smile.  1  do 
not  know,  Queen  ;  but  at  any  rate  it  is  a  begging  letter;  and  without 
doubt  you  vyiuld  do  ^j  11  ny;'to  read  it  at  all ;  -.'or  I  bet  you,  the  shame- 
less writer  of  this  letter  demands  of  you  some  impossibility — it  may 
be  a  smile,  or  a  pressure  of  the  hand,  a  lock  of  your  hair,  or  perchance 
even  a  kis^.     So,  Queen,  do  not  read  the  begging  letter  at  all. 

John,  said  she  smiling  and  yet  trembling  with  impatience,  John,  give 
me  the  letter. 

I  will  sell  it  to  you,  Queen.  I  have  learned  that  from  the  King,  who 
likewise  gives  nothing  away  generously,  without  taking  in  return  more 
than  he  gives.  So  let  us  trade.  I  give  you  the  letter ;  you  give  me 
the  rosette  which  you  wear  on  your  shoulder  there. 

Nay,  indeed,  John  ;  choose  something  else — 1  cannot  give  you  the 
rosette. 

And  by  the  Gods  be  it  sworn,  exclaimed  John  with  comic  pathos,  I 
give  you  not  the  letter,  if  you  do  not  give  me  the  rosette. 

Silly  loon,  said  the  Queen.  I  tell  you  I  cannot!  Choose  something 
else,  John  ;*  and  I  conjure  you,  dear  John,  give  me  the  letter. 

Then  only,  when  you  give  me  the  rosette.  1  have  sworn  it  by  the 
the  gods,  and  what  1  vow  to  them,  that  1  stick  to  !  No,  no,  Queen — not 
those  sullen  airs,  not  that  angry  frown.  For  if  I  cannot  in  earnest  re- 
ceive the  rosette  as  a  present,  then  let  us  do  like  the  Jesuits  and  papists, 
who  even  trade  with  .the  dear  God  and  snap  their  fingers  at  him.  I 
must  keep  my  oath  !  I  give  you  the  letter,  and  you  give  me  the  rosette  ; 
but  listen — you  only  lend  it  to  me;  and  when  1  have  had  it  in  my  hand 
a  moment,  I  am  generous  and  bountiful,  like  the  King,  and  I  make  you  a 
present  of  your  own  property. 

With  a  quick  motion,  the  Queen  tore  the  rosette  from  her  shoulder 
and  handed  it  to  John  Heywood. 

Now  give  me  the  letter,  JohD. 

Here  it  if,  said  John  Heywood  as  he  received  the  rosette.  Take  it; 
and  you  will  see  that  Thomas  Seymour  is  my  brother. 

Your  brother  ?  asked  Catharine  with  a  smile,  as  with  trembling  hand 
shp.  broke  the  seal. 


23 

Yes,  my  brother,  for  he  is  a  fool  !  Ah,  I  Have  a  great  many  brothers. 
The  family  of  fools  is  so  very  large  ! 

The  Queen  no  lunger  heard.  She  was  reading  the  letter  of  her  lover. 
She  had  eyes  only  for  those  lines,  that  told  her  that  Thomas  Seymour 
loved  her,  adored  her,  and  was  pining  away  with  longing  alter  her. 

She  did  not  see  how  John  Hey  wood,  with  nimble  hand,  unfastened  the 
diamond  clasp  from  the  rosette,  and  took  out  of  it  the  little  paper  that 
was  concealed  in  the  folds  of  the  ribbon.     , 

She  is  saved  !  murmured  he,  while  he  thcust  the  fatal  paper  into  his 
doublet,  and  fastened  the  clasp  again  with 'the  pin.  She  is  saved,  and 
the  King  .will  not  sign  her  death-warrant  this  time. 

Catharine  had  read  the  letter  to  the  end,  and  hid  it  in  her  bosom. 

Queen,  you  have  sworn  to  bum  up  every  letter  that  I  bring  you  from 
him ;  for,  forbidden  love  letters  are  dangerous  things.  One  day  they 
may  find  a  tongue  and  testify  against  you  !  Queeu,  I  will  not  bring 
you  again  another  letter,  if  you  do  not  first  burn  that  one. 

John,  I  will  burn  it  up#  wheu  once  I  have  really  read  it.  Just  now*I 
read  it  only  with  my  heart,  not  with  my  eyes.  Allow  me,  then,  to  wear 
it  on  my  heart  a  few  hours  more. 

Do  you  swear  to  me  that  you  will  burn  it  up  this  very  day  ? 

1  swear  it. 

Then  1  will  be  satisfied  this  time.  Here  is  your  rosette  ;  and  like  the 
famous  fox  in  the  fable,  that  pronounced  the  grapes  sour  because  he  could 
not  get  them,  I  say  :   take  your  rosette  back  !     I  will  have  noneof  it. 

He  handed  the  Queen  the  rosette,  and  she  smilingly  fastened  It  on  her 
shoulder  again. 

John,  said  she  with  a  bewitching  smile,  extending  her  hand  to  him, 
John,  when  will  you  at  lcng'.h  permit  me  to  thank  you  otherwise  than 
with  words?  When  will  you  at  length  allow  your  Queen  to  reward 
you,  for  all  this  service  of  love,  otherwise  than  with  words? 

John  Hey  wood  kissed  her  hand,  and  said  mournfully  :  1  will  demand 
a  reward  of  you  on  the  day  when  my  tears  and  my  prayers  succeed  in 
persuading  you  to  renounce  this  wretched  and  dangerous  love.  On  that 
day  I  shall  have  really  deserved  a  reward,  and  I  will  accept  it  from  you 
with  a  proud  heart. 

Poor  John  !  So  then  you  will  never  receive  your  reward  ;  for  that 
day  will  never  come  ! 

So  then  I  shall  probably  receive  my  reward,  but  from  the  King  ;  and 
it  will  be  a  reward  whereby  one  loses  hearing  and  sight,  and  head  to 
boot.  Well,  we  shall  see!  Till  then,  farewell.  Queen.  I  must  to  the 
King;  for  somebody  might  surprise  me  here,  and  come  to  the  shrewd 
conclusion  that  John  Heywood  is  not  always  a  fool,  but  sometimes  alio 
the  messenger  of  love!  I  kiss  the  hem  of  your  garment;  farewell, 
Queen  ! 

He  glided  again  through  the  private  door. 

Now  we  will  at  once  examine  this  paper,  said  he,  as  he  reached  the 
corridor  and  was  sure  of  being  seen  by  no  one. 


JO 

lie  drew  the  paper  out  of  his  doublet  and  opened  it.  I  do  not  kuow 
the  hand  writing,  muttered  lie,  but  it  was  a  woman  that  wrote  it. 

The  letter  read  :  "  Do  you  believe  me  now,  my  beloved  1  I  swore 
to  deliver  to  you  today,  in  the  presence  of  the  Kit. g  and  of  all  my 
Court,  this  rosette;  and  1  have  done  so.  For  you,  1  gladly  risk  my  life ; 
for  you  are  my  life;  and  still  more  beautiful  were  it  to  die  with  )ou, 
than  to  live  without  you.  I  live  only  when  I  rest  in  your  arms;  and 
those  dark  nights,  when  you  can  be  with  me,  are  the  light  and  sunshine 
of  my  days.  Let  us  pray  Heaven  a  dark  night  may  soon  come ;  for 
such  a  night  restores  to  me  ,the  loved  one,  and  to  you,  your  happy 
wile,  Geialdine." 

Geraldine!  who  is  Geraldine?  muttered  John  Heywood,  slipping  the 
paper  into  his  doublet  again.  1  must  disentangle  this  web  of  lying  and 
deceit.  I  must  know  what  all  this  means.  For  this  is  more  than  a 
conspiracy — a  false  accusation.  It  concerns,  as  it  seems,  a  reality.  This 
letter  the  Queen  is  to  give  to  a  man;  and  in  it,  sweet  recollections, 
Uappy  nights  are  spoken  of.  So  he  who  receives  this  letter  is  in  league 
with  them  against  Catharine,  and  I  dare  say  her  worst  enemy,  for  he 
makes  use  of  Jove  against  her.  Some  treachery  or  knavery  is  concealed 
behind  this.  Either  the  man,  to  whom  this  letter  is  addressed,  is  de- 
ceived—  and  he  is  unintentionally  a  tool  in  the  hands  of  the  papists — or 
he  is  in  league  with  them,  and  has  given  himself  up  to  the  villiany  of 
phiy  ing  the  part  of  lover  to  the  Queen.  But  who  can  he  be  1  Perchance 
Thomas  Seymour?  It  were  possible;  for  he  has  a  cold  and  deceitful 
heart,  and  he  would  be  capable  of  such  tieachery.  But  woe  be  to  him 
if  it  is  he.  Then  :t  will  be  I  who  accuses  him  to  the  King  ;  and  by  God, 
his  head  shall  fall.     Now  away  to  the  King  ! 

Just  as  he  entered  the  King's  ante- room,  the  door  of  the  cabinet  opened, 
and  the  Duchess  of  Richmond,  accompanied  by  Earl  Douglas,  walked 
out. 

Lady  Jane  and  Gardiner  were  standing,  as  if  by  accident,  near  the 
door. 

Well,  have  we  attained  our  end  there  also  1  asked  Gardiner. 

We  have  attained  it,  said  Earl  Douglas.'  The  Duchess  has  accused 
her  brother  of  a  liaison  with  the  Queen.  She  has  deposed  that  he  some- 
times leaves  the  palace  by  night,  and  does  not  return  to  it  before  morn- 
ing. She  has  declared  that  lor  four  nights  she  herself  dogged  her  brother 
and  saw  him  as  he  entered  the  wing  of  the  castle  occupied  by  the  Queen  ; 
and  one  of  the  Queen's  maids  has  communicated  to  the  Duchess  that 
the  Queen  was  not  in  her  room  on  that  night. 

And  the  King  listened  to  the  accusation,  and  did  not  throttle  you  in 
his  wrath  1 

He  is  yet  in  that  dull  state  of  rage  in  which  the  lava,  which  the  crater 
will  afterwards  pour  forth,  is  just  prepared.  As  yet  all  is  quiet,  but  be 
sure,  there  will  be  an  eruption,  and  the  stream  of  red-hot  lava  will  bury 
tho-e  who  have  dared  excite  the  god  Vulcan. 

And  does  he  know  about  the  rosette  ?  asked  Lady  Jane. 


He  knows  everything.  And  until  that  moment  lie  will  allow  no  one 
to  suspect  his  wrath  and  fury.  He  says  he  will  make  the  Queen  per- 
fectly secure,  in  order  to  get  into  his  hands  thereby  sure  proof  of  her 
guilt.  Well,  we  will  furnish  htal  this  evidence;  and  hence  it  follows 
that  the  Queen  is  inevitably  lost. 

But  hark  !  The  doors  are  opened,  and  the  Master  of  Ceremonies 
comes  to  summon  us  to  the  golden  gallery. 

Just  walk  in,  muttered  .John  Hey  wood,  gliding  along  behind  them. 
I  am  still  here;  and  I  will  be  the  mouse  that  gnaws  the  net  in  which 
you  want  to  catch  my  noble-minded  lioness. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    QUEEN'S    K06ETTE. 

The  golden  gallery,  in  which  the  tourney  of  the  poets  was  to  take 
place,  presented  today  a  truly  enchanting  and  fairy-like  aspect.  Mirrors 
of  gigantic  size,  set  in  broad  gilt  frames,  ornamented  with  the  most  per- 
fect carved  woik,  covered  the  walls,  and  threw  back  a  thousand  times 
reflected,  the  ewormous  chandeliers  which,  with  their  hundreds  and  hun- 
dreds of  candles,  shed  the  light  of  day  in  the  vast  hall.  Here  and  there 
were  seen,  arranged  in  front  of  the  mirrors,  clusters  of  the  rarest  and 
choicest  flowers,  which  poured  through  the  hall  their  fragrance,  stupefy- 
.Hid  yet  so  enchanting,  and  out-hone  in  brilliancy  of  colors  even 
the  Tutkish  carpet,  which  stretched  through  the  whole  room  and  changi  d 
the  flour  into  one  immense  flower  bed.  Between  the  clumps  of  flowers 
•were  seen  tables  with  golden  va->es,  in  which  were  refreshing  beverage-  ; 
while  at  the  other  end  of  the  enormous  gallery  stood  a  gigantic  side- 
board, which  contained  the  choicest  and  rarest  dishes.  At  present,  the 
doors  of  the  sideboard,  which,  when  open,  formed  a  room  of  itself,  were 
yet  closed. 

They  had  not  yet  come  to  the  material  enjoyments;  they  were  still 
occupied  in  absorbing  the  spiritual.  The  brilliant  and  select  company 
that  filled  the  hall,  was  still  for  some  time  condemned  to  be  silent  and 
t>  shut  up  within  them  their  laughter  and  gossip,  their  backbiting  and 
slander,  'heir  (littery  and  hypocri-s 

Just  now  a  p;oise   ensued.     The  King,  with  Croke.  had  recited  to  his 
Court   a   scene    from   "Antigone;"  and    they    were   just   taking    bieath 
from  the  wonderful  and  exalted  enjoyment  of  having  heard  a  language, 
of  which  they  understood  not  a  wmd,  but  which  they  fuund  to  be  i 
beautiful,  since  the  King  admired  it. 


m 

Henry  the  Eighth  had  again  leant  back  on  his  golden  throne,  and, 
paining,  rested  from  his  prodigious  exertion;  and  while  he  jested  and 
dreamed,  an  invisible  band  played  a  piece  of  music  composed  by  the 
King  himself,  and  which,  with  ids  serious  and  solemn  movement,, 
strangely  contrasted  with  t his  room  so  brilliant  and  cheerful — with  this 
splendid,  laughing  and  jesting  assembly. 

For  the  King  had  bidden  them  amuse  themselves  and  be  gay  ;  to  give 
themselves  up  to  mirestiained  chitchat.  It  was,  therefore,  natural  for 
them  to  laugh,  and  to  appear  not  to  notice  the  King's  exhaustion  and 
repose. 

Besides,  they  had  not  for  a  long  time  seen  Henry  so  cheerful,  so  full 
of  youthful  life,  so  sparkling  with  wit  and  humor,  as  on  this  evening. 
His  mouth  was  overflowing  with  jests  that  made  the  gentlemen  laugh 
and  the  beautiful,  brilliant  women  blush,  and  above  all,  the  young 
Queen,  who  sat  by  him  on  the  rich  and  splendid  throne,  and  now  and 
then  only  threw  stolen  and  longing  glances  at  her  lover,  for  whom  she 
would  willingly  and  gladly  have  given  her   royal  crown  and  her  throne. 

When  the  King  saw  how  Catharine  biushed^he  turned  to  her,  and  in 
his  tenderest  tone  begged  her  pardon  for  his  jest,  which,  however,  in  its 
sauciness,  served  only  to  make  his  Queen  still  more  beautiful,  still  more 
bewitching.  His  words  were  then  so  tender  and  heartfelt,  his  looks  so 
full  of  love  aud  admiration,  that  nobody  could  donbt  but  that  the 
Queen  was  in  highest  favor  with  her  husband,  and  that  he  loved  her 
most  tenderly. 

Only  the  few  who  knew  the  secret  of  this  tenderness  of  the  King,  so 
open  and  so  unreservedly  displayed,  comprehended  fully  the  clanger 
which  threatened  the  Queen  ;  for  the  King  was  never  more  to  be  dreaded 
than  when  he  fluttered  ;  and  on  no  one  did  his  wrath  fall  more  crush- 
ingly  than  on  him  whom  to  had  just  kissed  and  assured  of  his  favor. 

This-  was  what  Earl  Douglas  said  to  himself,  when  he  saw  with  what 
a  cordial  look  Henry  the  Eighth  chatted  with  his  consort. 

Behind  the  throne  of  the  royal  pair  was- seen  John  Heywood,  in  his 
fantastic  and  dressy  costume,  with  his  face  at  once  noble  and  cunning ; 
and  the  King  just  then  broke  out  into  loud,  resounding  laughter  at  his 
sarcastic  and  satirical  observations. 

King,  your  laugh  does  not  please  me  to-day,  said  John  Heywood 
earnestly.     It  smacks  of  gall.     Do  you  not  find  it  so,  Queen  ? 

The  Queen  was  startled  from  her  sweet  reveries,  and  that  was  what 
John  Heywood  had  wished.     He,  therefore,  repeated  his  question. 

No  indeed,  said  she;  1  find  the  King  today  quite  like  the  sun.  He 
is  radiant  and  bright,  like  it. 

Queen,  you  do  not  mean  the  sun,  but  the  full  moon,  said  John  Hey- 
wood. But  only  see,  Henry,  how  cheerfully  Earl  Archibald  Douglas 
over  there  is  chatting  with  the  Duchess  of  Richmond.  I  love  that  good 
Earl.  He  always  appears  like  a  blindworm,  which  is  just  in  the  notion 
of  stinging  some  one  on  the  heel,  and  hence  it  comes,  that  when  near  the 
JSarl,  1  always  transform  myself  into  a  crane.     I  stand  on  one  leg ;  be- 


30 

caus'e.  I  am  then  sure- to  have  the  other  ait  least  safe  from  the  Earl's  sting. 
King,  were  I  like  you,  I  would  not  have  those  killed  that  the  blind 
worm  has  stung;  but.  1  would  root  out.  tin;  blindwonns,  that  the  feet  of 
honorable  men  might  be  secure  from  them. 

The  King  east  at  him  a  quick,  searching  look,  which  John  Ileywood 
answered  with  a  smile.  > 

Kill  the.  bliudworms,  King  Henry,  said  he  ;  and  w hen  yon  are  once 
at  work  destroying  vermin,  ic  will  do  no  harm  if  you  once  more  give 
these,  priests  also  a  good  kick.  It  is  now  a  long  time  since  we  burnt 
any  ot  them,  and  they  are  again  becoming  arrogant  and  malicious,  as 
they  always  were  and  always  will  be.  1  see  even  the  [ions  and  meek 
BishOp  of  Winchester,  the  noble  Gardiner,  who  is  entertaining  himself 
with  Lady  Jane  over  there,  smiling  very  cheerfully,  and  that  is  a  bad 
sign  ;  for  Gardiner  smiles  only  when  he  has  again  caught  a  poor  soul, 
and  prepared  it  as  a  breakfast  for  his  lord.  I  do  not  mean  you,  King, 
but  his  lord — the  Devil.  For  the  Devil  is  always  hungry  for  noble  hu 
man  souls  ;  and  to  him  who  catches  one  for  him  he  gives  indulgence 
for  his  sin-  for  an  hour.  Therefore  Gardiner  catches  so  many  souls; 
for  since  he  sins  every  hour,  every  hour  he  needs  indulgence. 

You  are  very  spiteful  today,  John  Key  wood,  said  the  Queen  smiling, 
while  the  King  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  ground,  thoughtful  and  musing. 

John  Heywood's  words  had  touched    the  sore  place  of  his  heart,  and, 
e  of  himself,  filled  his  suspicious  heart  with  new  doubts. 

He  mistrusted  not  merely  the  accused,  bat  the  accusers  also;  and  if 
he  punished  the  one  as  criminals,  he  would  have  willingly  punished  the 
others  also  as  informants.  I 

He  asked  himself:  What  aim  had  Earl  Douglas  and  Gardiner  in  accus- 
ing the  Queen  ;  and  why  had  they  startled  him  out  of  hi.-  quiet  and 
confidence  ?  At  that  moment,  when  he  looked  on  his  beautiful  wife,  who 
sat  by  him  in  bucK  serene  tranquility,  unembarrassed  and  smiling,  he 
felt  a  deep  anger  fill  his  heart,  not  against  Catharine,  but.  against  Jane, 
who  accused  her. 

She  was  so  lovely  and  beautiful!  Why  did  they  envy  him  her? 
Why  did  they  not  leave  him  in  his  sweet  delusion?  But  perhaps  she 
was  not  guilty.  No,  she  was  not.  The  eye  of  a  culprit  is  not  thus 
bright  and  clear.  The  air  of  a  strumpet  is  not  thus  unembarrassed — of 
such  maidenly  delicacy. 

Moreover  the.  King  was  exhausted  and  disgusted.  One  can  become 
satiated  even  with  cruelty  ;  and,  at  this  hour,  Henry  felt  completely  sur- 
feited with  bloodshed. 

His  heart — for  in  such  moments  of  mental  relaxation  and  bodily  cn- 
feeblement,  the  King  even  had  a  heart — his  heart  was  already  in  the 
rotion  of  pronouncing  the  word  pardon,  when  the  King-s  eye  fell  on 
Henry  Ho  -ard.  who,  with  his  father,  the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  and  surround- 
ed by  a  circle  of  brilliant  and  noble  lords,  was  standing  not  far  from  tho 
royal  throne. 


30 

The  King  felt  a  deadly  stab  in  his  breast,  and  his  eyes  darted  light- 
ning over  towards  that  group. 

How  proud  and  imposing  the  figure  of  the  noble  Earl  looked  ;  how 
high  he  overtopped  all  others;  how  noble  and  handsome  his  counte- 
nance; how  kingly  his  bearing,  his  whole  appearance  was! 

Henry  must  admit  all  this  ;  and  because  he  must  do  so,  he  hated  him. 

Nay  !  no  mercy  for  Catharine!  If  what  her  accusers  had  told  him  was 
tint: — if  they  could  give  him  the  proofs  of  the  Queen's  guilt,  then  she 
was  doomed.  And  how  could  he  doubt  it?  Had  they  not  told 
him  that  in  the  rosette,  which  the  Queen  would  give  Earl  Surrey,  was 
C'.iilain.-d  a  love  letter  from  Catharine,  which  he  would  find?  Had  not 
Earl  Surrey,  in  a  confidential  hour,  yesterday  imparted  this  to  his  sister, 
the  Duchess  of  Richmond,  when  he  wished  to  bribe  her  to  be  the  mes- 
s. ..-tiger  of  love  between  the  Queen  and  himself?  Had  she  not  accused 
the  Queen  of  having  meetings  by  night  with  the  Earl  in  the  deserted 
tower  ] 

Nay,  no  compassion  for  his  fair  Queen,  if  Henry  Howard  was  her 
lover. 

He  must  again  look  over  at  his  hated  enemy.  There  he  still  stood 
by  his  father,  the  Duke  of  Norfolk.  How  sprightly  and  gracefully  the 
old  Duke  moved;  how  slim  his  form;  and  how  lofty  and  imposing  his 
bearing!  The  King  was  younger  than  the  Duke;  and  yet  he  was  fet- 
tered to  his  truckle-chair ;  yet  he  sat  on  his  throne  like  an  immovable 
Colossus,  while  he  moved  freely  and  lightly,  and  obeyed  his  own  will, 
not  necessity.  Henry  could  have  crushed  him — this  proud,  arrogant 
Earl,  who  was  a  free  man,  whilst  his  King  was  nothing  but  a  prisoner 
to  his  own  flesh,  a  slave  of  his  unwieldly  body. 

1  will  exterminate  it — this  proud,  arrogant  race  of  Howards!  mutter- 
ed the  King,  as  he  turned  with  a  friendly  smile  to  the  Earl  of  Surrey. 

You  have  promised  us  some  of  your  poems,  cousin  !  said  he.  So  let 
us  now  enjoy  them  ;  for  you  see,  indeed,  how  impatiently  all  the  beau- 
tiful women  look  on  England's  noblest  and  greatest  poet ;  and  how  very 
angry  with  me.  they  would  be,  if  I  still  longer  withhold  this  enjoyment 
from  them.  Even  my  fair  Queen  is  full  of  longing  after  your  songs,  so 
rich  in  fancy  ;  for  you  well  know,  Howard,  she  loves  poetry,  and  above 
all  things,  yours  ! 

Catharine  had  scarcely  heard  what  the  King  said.  Her  looks  had  en- 
countered Seymour's,  and  their  eyes  were  fixed  on  each  other's.  But  she 
had  then  cast  down  to  the  floor  her  eye,  still  completely  filled  with  the 
sight  of  her  lover,  in  order  to  think  of  him,  since  she  no  longer  dared 
gaze  at  him. 

When  the  King  called  her  name,  she?  started  up  and  looked  at  him  in- 
quiringly.    She  had  not  heard  what  he  said  to  her. 

Not  even  for  a  moment  does  she  look  towards  me !  said  Henry  How- 
ard to  himself.  Oh,  she  loves  me  not ;  or  at  least  her  understanding  is 
mightier  than  her  love.  Oh,  Catharine,  Catharine,  fearest  thou  death  so 
much  that  thou  canst  on  that  account  deny  thy  love  ? 


31 

With  desperate  haste  he  drew  out  his  portfolio.  I  will  compel  her  to 
look  at  me,  to  ihiukojime,  to  remembei  her  oath,  thought  he.  Woe  to 
her,  if  she  dues  not  fulfill  it. — if  she  ^ives  me  not  the  rosette  which  she 
promised  me  with  so  solemn  a  vow.  If  she  does  it  not,  then  1  will  break 
this  dreadful  silence,  and  before  her  King,  and  before  her  Court,  accuse 
her  of  treachery  to  her  love.  Then,  at  least,  she  will  not  be  able  to  cast 
me  off;  f'ov  we  shall  mount  the  scaffold  together. 

Does  my  exalted  Queen  allow  me  to  begin?  asked  he  aloud,  wholly 
forgetting  that  the  King  had  already  given  him"  the.  order  to  do  so,  ana 
that  it  was  he  only  who  could  grant  such  a  permission. 

Catharine  looked  at  him  in  astonishment.  Then  her  glance  fell  On 
Lady  Jane  Douglas,  who  was  gazing  over  at  her  with  an  imploring  ex- 
pression. The  Queen  smiled  ;  for  she  now  remembered  that  it  was 
Jane's  beloved  who  had  spoken  to  her.  and  ihat  she  had  promised  the 
poor  young  girl  to  raise  again  the  dejected  Earl  of  Surrey  and  to  be  gra- 
cious to  him. 

Jane  is  right,  thought  she  ;  he  appears  to.  be  deeply  depressed  and 
suffering.  Ah,  it.  must  be  very  painful  to  see  those,  whom  one  loves, 
suffering!  1  will,  therefore,  comply  with  Jane's  request,  for  the  says 
thjs  might  revive  the  Earl 

With  a  smile  she  bowed  to  the  Earl.  I  beg  yon.  said  she,  to  lend 
our  festival  its  fairest  ornament, — to  adorn  it  with  the  flagrant  flowers 
of  your  poesy.  You  see  we  are  all  burning  with  desire  to  hear  your 
verses. 

The  King  shook  with  rage  ;  and  a  crushing  word  was  already  poised 
upon  his  lip.  But  he  restrained  himself.  He  warned  to  have  proofs 
fust  ;  he,  wanted  to  see  them  not  merely  accused,  but  doomed  also;  and 
for  that  he  needed  proofs  of  their  guilt. 

Henry  Howard  now  approached  the  throne  of  the  royal  pair,  and  \\i;h 
beaming  looks,  with  animated  countenance,  with  a  voice  trembling  with 
emotion,  he  read  his  love  songs  to  the  fair  Geraldine. 

A  murmur  of  applause  arose  when  he  had  read  his  first  sonnet.  Tho 
King  only  looked  gloomily  with  fixed  eyes;  the  Queen  alone  remained 
uninterested  and  Cold. 

She  is  a  complete  actress,  thought  Henry  Howard  in  the  madness  of 
his  pain.  Not  a  muscle  of  her  face  stirs ;  and  jet  this  sonnet  must  re- 
mind Ivr  of  the  fairest  and  most  sacred  moment  of  our  love. 

The  Queen  remained  unmoved  and  cold.  But  had  Henry  Howard 
looked  at  Lady  Jane  Douglas,  he  would  have  seen  how  she  tuyied  pale 
and  blushed  ;  how  she  smiled  with  rapture,  and  how,  nevertheless,  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears. 

Earl  Surrey,  however,  s.iw  nothing  but  the  Queen  ;  nnd  the  sight  of 
her  made  him  tremble  with  rage  and  pain.  His  eyes  darted  lightning  ; 
his  countenance  glowed  with  pis-ion;  his  whole  being  was  in  desperate, 
enthusiast!^  excitement,  At  that  moment  he  would  have  glaMly 
breathed  out  his  life  at  Geraldine'fl  feet,  if  she  would  only  recognize 
him — if  she  would  only  have  the  courage  to  call  him  her  beloved. 


But  her  smiling  calmness,  her  friendly  coolness,  brought  him  to  de- 
spair. 

He  crumpled  the  paper  in  his  hand  ;  the  letters  danced  before  his 
eyes;  he  could  read  no  more. 

But  he  would  not  remain,  mute,  either.  Like  the  dying  swan,  he 
would  breathe  out  his  pain  in  a  last  song,  and  give  sound  and  words  to  his 
despair  and  his  agony.     He  could  no  longer  read  ;  but  he  improvised. 

Like  a  glowing  stream  of  lava,  the  words  flowed  from  his  lips;  in 
fiery  dithyrambic,  in  fmpasssioned  hymns,  he  poured  forth  his  love  and 
pain.  The  genius  of  poesy  hovered  over  him  and  lighted  up  his  noble 
and  thoughtful   brow. 

He  was  radiantly  beautiful  in  his  enthusiasm  ;  and  even  the  Queen 
felt  herself  carried  away  by  his  words. 

His  plaints  of  love,  his  longing  pains,  his  rapture  and  his  sad  fancies 
found  an  echo  in  her  heart. 

She  understood  him  ;  for  she  felt  the  same  joy,  the  same  sorrow  and 
th^  same  rapture  ;  only  she  did  not  feel  all  this  for  him. 

But,  as  we  have  said,  he  enthused  her;  the  current  of  his  passion 
carried  her  away.  She  wept  at  his  laments  ;  she  smiled  at  his  hymn3  of 
joy. 

When  Henry  Howard  at  length  ceased,  profound  silence  reigned  in 
the  vast  and  brilliant  royal  hall. 

All.  races  betrayed  deep  emotion;  and  this  universal  silence  was  the 
poet's  fairest  triumph  ;  for  it  showed  that  even  envy  and  jealousy  were 
dumb,  and  that  scorn  itself  could  find  no  words. 

A  momentary  pause  ensued  ;  it  resembled  that  sultry,  ominous  still- 
ness which  is  wont  to  precede  the  bursting  of  a  tempest ;  when  nature 
stops  a  moment  in  breathless  stillness,  to  gather  strength  for  the  uproar 
of  the  storm.  , 

If  was  a  significant,  an  awful  pause;  but  only  a  few  understood  its 
meaning. 

Lady  Jane  leant  against  the  wall  completely  shattered  and  breathless. 
She  felt  that  the  sword  was  hanging  over  their  heads,  and  that  it  would 
destroy  her  if  it  struck  her  beloved. 

Earl  Douglas  and  the  Bishop  of  Winchester  had  involuntarily  drawn 
near  each  other,  and  stood  there  hand  in  hand,  united  for  this  unholy  strug 
gle ;  while  John  Hey  wood  had  crept  behind  the  King's  throne,  and  in 
his  sarcastic  manner  whispered  in  his  ear  some  epigrams,  that  made  the 
King  smile  in  spite  of  himself. 

But  n6\v  the  Queen  arose  from  her  seat  and  beckoned  Henry  Howard 
nearer  to  her. 

My  Lord,  said  she  almost  with  solemnity,  as  a  queen  and  as  a  woman 
I  thank  you  for  the  noble  and  sublime  lyrics  which  you  have  composed 
in  honor  of  a  woman!  And  for  that  the  grace  of  my  King  has  exalted 
me  to  be  the  first  woman  in  England,  it  becomes  me,  in  the  name  of  all 
women,  to  return  you  my  thanks.  To  the  poet  is  due  a  reward  other 
than  that  of  the  warrior.     To  the  victo"  on  the  battle-field  is  awarded  a 


laurel  crown  !  But  you  have  gained  a  victory,  not.  less  glorious,  for  you 
have  conquered  hearts !  We  acknowledge  ourselves  vanquished,  and  in 
the  name  of  all  these  noble  women,  I  proclaim  you  their  Knight !  In 
token  of  which,  accept  this  rosette,  iny  Lord!  It  entitles  you  to  wear 
the  Queen's  colors  ;  it  lays  you  under  obligation  to  be  the  Knight  of  all 
women  ! 

She  loosened  the  rosette  from  her  shoulder  and  handed  it  to  the 
Earl. 

He  had  sunk  on  one  knee  before  her,  and  already  extended  his  hand 
to  receive  this  precious  and  coveted  pledge. 

But  at  this  moment  the  King  arose,  and,  with  an  imperious  gesture, 
held  back  the  Queen's  hand. 

Allow  me,  my  Lady,  said  he  in  a  voice  quivering  with  ioge.  Allow 
me  first  to  examine  this  rosette,  and  cmvince  myself  that  it  is  enough 
worth  to  be  presented  to  the  noble  Earl,  as  his  sole  reward.  Let  me 
see  this  rosette. 

Catharine  looked  with  astonishment  into  that  face  convulsed  with  pas 
sion  and  fury,  but  without  hesitation  she  handed  him  the  rosette. 

We  are  lost!  murmured  Earl  Surrey  ;  while  Earl  Douglas  and  Gard- 
iner exchanged  with  each  other  looks  of  triumph;  and  Jane  Douglas 
murmured  in  her  trembling  heart  prayers  of  anxiety  and  dread,  scarcely 
hearing  the  malicious  and  exultant  words  which  the  Duchess  of  Rich- 
mond was  whispering  in  her  ear. 

The  King  held  the  rosette  in  his  hand  and  examined  it.  But  his  hands 
trembled  so  much  that  he  was  unable  to  unfasten  the  clasp  which  held 
it  together. 

He,  therefore,  handed  it  to  John  Hoy  wood.  These  diamonds  are  poor, 
said  he  in  a  curt  dry  tone.  Unfasten  the  clasp,  fool;  we  will  replace  it 
with  this  pin  here.  Then  will  the  present  gain  Cor  the  Earl  a  double 
value;  for  it  will  come  at  the  same  time  from  me  and  from  the  Queen. 

How  gracious  you  are  to-day,  eaid  John  Hey  wood  smillcg — As  gra- 
cious as  the  cat,  thnt  plays  a  little  longer  with  the  mouse  before  she  de- 
vours it. 

Unfasten  the  clasp !  exclaimed  the  King  in  a  thundering  voice,  no 
longer  ab'e  to  conceal  his  rnge.  Slowly  John  Heywood  unfastened  the 
cla<p  from  the  ribbon.  He  did  it  with  intentional  slowness  and  delibe- 
ration; he  let  the  King  see  all  of  his  movements,  every  turn  of  his  fin- 
gers; and  it  delighted  him  to  hold  those  who  had  woven  this  plot,  in 
dreadful  suspense  and  expectation. 

Whilst  he  appeared  perfectly  innocent  and  unembarrassed,  his  keen 
piercing  glance  ran  over  the  whole  assembly  ;  and  he  noticed  well  the 
trembling  impatience  of  Gardiner  and  Earl  Douglas  ;  and  it  did  not  es- 
cape him  how  pale  Lady  J&oe  was,  and  bow  full  of  expectation  the.  iu- 
tent  features  of  the  Duchess  of  Richmond. 

They  are  the  ones  with  whom  ihis  conspiracy  originated,  said  John 
Heywood  to  himself.  But  I  will  keep  silence  till  I  can  one  day  convict 
them. 


.34 

There  !  here  is  ihe  clasp  !  said  he  then  aloud  to  the  King,  ft  stuck  as 
lightly  in  the  ribbon,  as  malice  in  the  heart  of  priests  and  courtiers! 

The  King  snatched  the  ribbou  out  of  his  hand,  and  examined  it  by 
drawing  it  through  his  fingers. 

Nothing!  nothing  at  all  !  said  he  gnashing  his  teeth  ;  and  now,  deceiv- 
ed in  his  expectations  and  suppositions,  he  could  no  longer  muster 
strength  to  withstand  that  roaring  torreut  of  wrath  which  overflow- 
ed his  heart. — The  tiger  was  again  aroused  in  him;  he  had  calmly  wait- 
ed for  the  moment  when  ihe  promised  prey  would  be  brought  to  him  ; 
now,  when  it  seemed  to  be  escaping  him,  his  savage  and  cruel  disposi- 
tion started  up  within  him.  The  tiger  panted  and  thirsted  for  blood ; 
and  that  he  was  not  to  get  it,  made  him  raging  with  fury. 

With' a  wild  movement  he  threw  the  rosette  on  the  ground,  and  rais- 
ed his  arm  menacingly  towards  Henry  Howard. 

Dare  not  to  touch  that  rosette,  cried  he  in  a  voice  of  thunder,  before 
you  have  exculpated  yourself  from  the  gui^t  of  which  you  are  accused. 

Earl  Surrey  looked  him  steadily  and  boldly  in  the  eye.  Have  I  been 
accused  then?  asked  he.  Then  1  demand  first  of  all,  that  I  be  confront- 
ed with  my  accusers,  and  that  my  fault  be  named ! 

Ha,  traitor  !  Do  you  dare  to  brave  me  1  yelled  the  Kiug.  stamping  fu- 
riously with  his  foot.  Well  now,  I  will  be  your  accuser,  and  I  will  be 
your  judge! 

And  surely,  my  King  and  husband,  you  will  be  a  righteous  judge,  said 
Catharine,  as  she  inclined  imploringly  towards  the  King  and  grasped  his 
hand.  You  will  not  condemn  the  noble  Earl  Surrey  without  having 
heard  him  ;  and  if  you  find  him  guiltless,  you  will  punish  his  accusers. 

But  this  intercession  of  the  Queen  made  the  King  raging.  He  threw 
her  hand  from  him,  and  gazed  at  her  with  looks  of  such  flaming  wrath, 
that  she  involuntarily  trembled. 

Traitoress  yourself!  jelled  he  wildly.  Speak  not  of  innocence — you 
who  are  yourself  guilty  ;  and  before  you  dare  defend  the  Earl,  defend 
yourself! 

Catharine  rose  from  her  seat  and  looked  with  flashing  eyes  into  the 
King's  face  blazing  with  wrath.  King  Henry  of  England,  said  she  so- 
lemnly, )  ou  have  openly,  before  your  whole  Court,  accused  your  Queen 
of  a  crime.     I  now  demand  that  you  name  it! 

She  was  of  wondrous  beauty  in  her  proud  bold  bearing;  in  her  impo- 
sing, majestic  tranquility. 

The  decisive  moment  had  come;  and  she  was  conscious  that  her  life 
and  her  future  were  struggling  with  death  for  the  victory. 

She  looked  over  to  Thomas  Seymour,  and  their  eyes  met.  She  saw 
how  he  laid  his  hand  on  his  sword,  and  nodded  to  her  a  smiling  greeting. 

He  will  defend  me ;  and  before  he  will  suffer  me  to  be  dragged  to  the 
Tower,  he  himself  will  plunge  his  sword  into  my  breast!  thought  she, 
and  a  joyous,  triumphant  assurance  •fjlled  her  whole  heart. 

Sha  saw  nothing  but  him  who  had  sworn  to  die  with  her  when  the 
decisive  moment  came.     She  looked  with  a  smile  on  that  blade  which 


35 

he  had  already  half  drawn  from  its  scabbard  ;  and  she  hailed  it  asa  dear, 
long  yearntd-for  friend. 

She  saw  not  that  Henry  Howard  also  had  laid  his  hand  on  his  sword  ; 
that  he,  too,  was  ready  for  her  defence,  (irmly  resolved  to  slay  the  King 
himself,  before  his  mouth  uttered  the  sentence  of  death  over  the  Queen. 

But  Lady  Jane  Douglas  saw  it.  She  understood  how  to  read  the 
Earl's  countenance ;  she  fell  that  he  was  ready  to  go  to  death  for  hia 
beloved  ;  and  it  filled  her  heart  at  once  with  woe  and  rapture. 

She,  too,  was  now  firmly  resolved  to  follow  only  her  heart  and  her  love  : 
and  forgetting  all  else  besides  these,  she  hastened  forwards,  and  was  now 
standing  by  Henry  Howard. 

Be  prudent,  Earl  Surrey,  said  she  in  a  low  whisper.  Take  your  hand 
from  your  sword.  The  Queen,  by  my  mouth,  commands  you  to  do 
so ! 

Henry  Howard  looked  at  her  astonished  and  surprised  ;  but  he  let  his 
hand  slip  from  the  hilt  of  his  sword,  and  again  looked  towards  the 
Queen.  / 

She  had  repeated  her  demand  ;  she  had  once  more  dejnanded  of  the 
King — who,  speechless  and  completely  overcome  with  anger,  had  fallen 
back  into  his  seat — to  name  the  crime  of  which  she  was  accused. 

Now  then,  my  Queen  ;  you  demand  it,  and  you  shall  hear  it,  cried 
he.  You  want  to  know  the  crime  of  which  you  are  accused  1  Answer 
me,  then,  my  Lady  !  They  accuse  you  ol  not  always  staying  at  night 
in  your  sleeping-room.  It  is  alleged  that  you  sometimes  leave  it  for 
many  hours  ;  and  that  none  of  your  women  accompanied  you,  when  you 
glided  through  the  corrid  >rs  and  up  the  secret  stairs  to  the  lonely  tower, 
in  which  was  waiting  for  you  your  lover,  who  at  the  same  time  entered 
the  tower  through  the  small  street-door. 

He  knows  all !  muttered  Henry  Howard;  and  again  he  laid  his  hand 
on  his  sword,  and  was  about  to  approach  the  Queen. 

Lady  Jane  held  him  back.  Wait  for  the  issue,  said  she.  There  is 
still  lime  to  die  ! 

He  knows  all !  thought  the  Queen  also;  and  now  she  felt  within  her-  ' 
self  the  daring  courage  to  risk  all,  that  at  least  she  might  not  stand  there 
a  traitoress  in  the  eyes  of  her  lover. 

He  shall  not  believe  that  I  have  been  untrue  to  him,  thought  she.  I 
will  tell  all — confess  all,  that  he  may  know  why  I  went  and  whither. 

Now  answer,  my  Lady  Catharine,  thundered  the  King.  Answer;  and 
tell  me  whether  you  have  been  falsely  accused.  Is  it  true  that  you, 
eight  days  ago,  in  the  night  between  Monday  and  Tuesday,  left  jour 
sleeping-room  at  the  hour  of  midnight  and  went  secretly  to  the  lonely 
tower1?     Is  it  true  that  yon  received  there  a  man  who  is  your  lover? 

The  Queen  looked  at  him  in  angry  pride.  Henry,  Henry,  woe  to  you 
that  you  dare  thus  insult  your  own  wife,  cried  she. 

Answer  me  !     You  were  not  on  that  night  in  your  sleeping-room  ? 

No!  said  Catharine  with  dignified  composure.     I  was  not  there. 

The  King  sank  back  in  his  seat,  and  a  real  roar  of  fury  sounded  from 


30 

his  lips.  It  made  the  women  turn  pale,  and  even  the  men  felt  them- 
selves tremble. 

Catharine  alone  had  not  heeded  it  at  all ;  she  alone  had  heard  nothing 
save  that  cry  of  amazement  which  Thomas  Seymour  uttered;  and  she 
saw  only  the  angry  and  upbraiding  looks  which  he  threw  across  at  her. 

She  answered  these  looks  with  a  friendly  and  confident  smile,  and 
pressed  both  her  hands  to  her  heart  as  she  looked  at  him. 

]  will  justify  myself  before  him  at  least,  thought  she. 

The  King  had  recovered  from  his  first  shock.  He  again  raised  him- 
self up,  and  his  countenance  no'w  exhibited  a  fearful,  threatening  cool- 
ness. 

You  eonfess,  then,  asked  he,  that  you  were  not  in  your  sleeping-room 
on  that  night?. 

I  have  already  said  so  !  exclaimed  Catharine  impatiently. 

The  King  compressed  his  lips  so  violently  that  they  bled.  And  a 
man  was  with  you  ?  asked  he.  A  man  with  whom  you  made  an  assig- 
nation, aud  whom  you  received  in  the  lonely  tower?    , 

A  man  was  with  me.  But  I  did  not  receive  him  in  the  lonely  tow- 
er ;  and  it  was  no  assignation.  ' 

Who  was  that  man  ?  yelled  the  King.  Answer  me !  Tell  me  his 
name,  if  you  do  not  want  me  to  strangle  you  myself! 

King  Henry,  I  fear  death  no  longer !  said  Catharine  with  a  contempt- 
uous smile. 

Who  was  that  man  ?  Tell  me  his  name !  yelled  the  King  once 
more. 

The  Queen  raised  herself  more  proudly,  and  her  defiant  look  ran 
over  the  whole  assembly. 

The  man,  said  she  solemnly,  who  was  with  me  on  that  night — he  is 
named 

He  is  named  John  Hey  wood !  said  this  individual,  as  he  seriously 
and  proudly  walked  forward  from  behind  the  King's  throne !  Yes,  Hen- 
ry, your  brother,  the  fool  John  Heywood,  had  on  (hat  night  the  proud 
•honor  of  accompanying  your  consort  on  her  holy  errand  ;  but,  I  assure 
you,  that  he  was  less  like  the  King,  than  the  King  is  just  now  like  the 
fool. 

A  murmur  of  surprise  ran  through  the  assembly.  The  King  leant 
back  in  his  royal  seat  speechless. 

And  now,  King  Henry,  said  Catharine  calmly — now  I  will  tell  you 
whither  1  went  with  John  Heywood  on  that  night! 

She  was  silent,  and  for  a  moment  leant  back  on  her  seat.  She  felt 
that  the  looks  of  all  were  directed  to  her ;  she  heard  the  King's  wrath- 
ful groan  ;  she  felt  her  lover's  flashing,  reproachful  glances  ;  she  saw  the 
derisive  smile  of  those  haughty  ladies,  who  had  uever  forgiven  her — 
that  she,  from  a  simple  Baroness,  had  become  Queen.  But  all  this  made 
her  only  still  more  courageous  and  bolder. 

She  had  arrived  at  the  turning  point  of  her  life,  where  she  must  risk 
everything  to  avoir!  sinking  into  the  abyss. 


But  Lady  Jane  also  had  arrived  at  such  a  decisive  moment  of  her 
existence.  Sin-,  ton,  said  to  herself:  I  must  at  this  hour  risk  all,  if  I  do 
not  want  to  lose  all.  She  saw  Henry  Howard's  pale,  expectant  f.  ce. 
She  knew  if  the  Queen  now  spoke,  the  whole  web  of  their  conspiracy 
would  be  revealed  to  him, 

She  must,  therefore,  anticipate  the  Queen.  She  must  warn  Henry 
Howard. 

Fear  nothing!  whispered  she  to  him.  We  were  prepared  fur  that. 
1  have  put  into  her  hand  the  means  of  escape  ! 

Will  you  now  at  last  speak ?  exclaimed  the  King,  quivering  with 
impatience  and  rage.  Will  you  at  last  tell  us  where  you  were  on  that 
night  1 

I  will  tell  !  exclaimed  Catharine,  rising  up  again  boldly  and  resolute- 
ly. But  woe  be  to  those  who  drive  me  to  this!  For  1  tell  you  be 
forehand,  from  the  accused  1  will  become  an  accuser  who  demands  jus- 
tice, if  not  before  the  throne  of  the  King  of  England,  yet  before  the 
throne  of  the  Lord  of  all  Kings!  King  Henry  of  England, do  you  ask 
me  whither  I  went  on  that  night  with  John  Heywood  ?  I  might,  per- 
haps, as  your  Queen  and  consort,  demand  that  )Ou  put  this  question  to 
me,  not  before  so  many  witnesses,  but  in  the  quiet  of  our  chamber  ; 
but  you  seek  publicity,  and  I  do  not  shun  it.  Well,  hear  the  truth 
then — all  of  \  ou ! — On  that  ni^ht,  between  Monday  and  Tuesday.  1 
was  not  in  m j  sleeping  apartment,  because  I  had  a  grave  and  sacred 
duty  to  pei fni iu  ;  because  a  dying  woman  called  on  me  for  help  and 
pity  !  Would  yon  know,  my  lord  and  husband,  who  this  dying  woman 
was?     It  was  Anne  Askew  ! 

Anne  Askew!  exclaimed  the  King  in  astonishment ;  and  his  counte- 
nance exhibited  a  less  wrathful  expression. 

Anne  Askew  !  muttered  the  others  ;  and  John  He)  wood  very  well 
saw  how  Bishop  Gardiner's  brow  darkened,  and  how  Chancellor  Wrioth- 
esley  turned  pale  and  cast  down  his  eyes. 

Yes,  I  was  with  Anne  Askew  !  continued  the  Queen — with  Anne 
Askew,  whom  those  pious  and  wise  lords  yonder  had  condemed,  not  so 
much  on  account  of  her  faith,  but  because  they  knew  that  I  loved  her. 
Anne  Askew  was  to  die,  because  Catharine  Parr  loved  her  !  She  was 
to  go  to  the  stake,  that  my  heart  also  miyht  burn  with  fiery  pains  !  And 
because  it  was  so,  I  was  obliged  to  risk  everything  in  order  to  save  her. 
Oh,  my  King,  say  yourself,  did  I  not  owe  it  to  this  poor  girl  to  try  eve 
r)  thing  in  order  to  save  her?  On  my  account  she  was  to  suffer"  these 
tortures.  For  they  had  shamefully  stolen  from  me  a  letter  which  Anne 
Askew,  in  the  distress  of  her  heart,  had  addressed  to  me;  and  they 
showed  this  letter  to  )ou,  in  order  to  cast  suspicion  on  me  and  accuse 
me  to  you.  But  your  noble  heart  repelled  the  suspicion  ;  and  now  their 
wrath  fell  again  on  Anne  Askew,  and  she  must  suffer,  because  they  did 
not  find  me  punishable.  She  must  atone  for  having  dared  to  write  to 
They  worked  matters  with  you  so  that  she  wa9  put  to  the  rack. 
But  when  my  husband  gave  way  to  their  urging,  yet  the  noble  King  re- 


38 

niained  still  awake  in  him.  "  Go,"  said  he,  "  rack  her  and  kill  her ; 
but  see  first,  whether  she  will  not  recant." 

Henry  looked  astonished  into  her  noble  and  defiant  face.  Do  you 
know  that?  asked  he.  And  yet  we  were  alone,  and  no  human  being 
present      Who  could  tell  you  that? 

When  man  is  no  longer  able  to  help,  then  God  undertakes!  said 
Catharine  solemnly,  it  was  God  who  commanded  me  to  go  to  Anne 
Askew,  and  try  whether  1  could  save  her.  And  1  went.  But  though 
the  wife  of  a  noble  and  great  King,  1  am  still  but  a  weak  and  timid  wo- 
man. 1  was  afraid  to  tread  this  gloomy  and  dangerous  path  alone ;  I 
needed  a  strong,  manly  arm  to  lean  upon  ;  and  so  John  Hey  wood  lent 
me  his. 

And  you  were  really  with  Anne  Askew,  interposed  the  King  thought- 
fully—  with  that  hardened  sinner,  who  despised  mercy,  and  in  the  stub- 
borness  of  her  soul  would  not  be  a  partaker  of  the  pardon  that  I  offered 
her? 

My  lord  and  husband,  said  the  Queen  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  she 
whom  you  have  just  accused,  stands  even  now  before  the  throne  of  the 
Lord,  and  has  received  from  her  God  the  forgiveness  of  her  sins ! 
Therefore,  do  you  likewise  pardon  her;  and  may  the  flames  of  the  stake, 
to  which  yesterday  the  noble  virgin  body  of  this  girl  was  bound,  have 
consumed  also  the  wrath  and  hatred  which  had  been  kindled  in  your 
heart  against  her.  Anne  Askew  passed  away  like  a  saint;  for  she  for- 
gave all  her  enemies  and  blessed  her  tormenters. 

Anne  Askew  was  a  damnable  sinner,  who  dared  resist  the  command 
of  her  lord  and  King !  interrupted  Bishop  Gardiner,  looking  daggers  at  her. 

And  dare  you  maintain,  my  Lord,  that  you  at  that  time  fulfilled  the 
commands  of  your  royal  master  simply  and  exactly  ?  asked  Catharine. 
Did  you  keep  within  them  with  respect  to  Anne  Askew  ?  No  !  I  say ; 
for  the  King  had  not  ordered  you  to  torture  her  ;  he  had  not  bidden  you 
to  lacerate  in  blasphemous  wrath  a  noble  human  form,  and  distort  that 
liktness  of  God  into  a  horrible  caricature.  And  that,  my  Lord,  you 
did!  Before  God  and  your  King,  I  accuse  you  of  it—  1,  the  Queen  ! 
For  you  now  know,  my  lord  and  husband,  I  was  there  when  Anne 
Askew  was  racked.  I  saw  her  agony ;  and  John  Heywood  saw  it 
with  me. 

The  eyes  of  all  were  now  directed  inquiringly  to  the  King,  of  whose 
ferocity  and  choler  every  one  now  expected  a  violent  outbreak. 

But  this  time  they  were  mistaken.  The  King  was  so  well  satisfied 
to  find  his  consort  clear  of  the  crime  laid  to  her  charge,  that  he  willingly 
forgtive  her  for  having  committed  a  crime  of  less  weighty  character. 
Besides,  it  filled  him  with  respect  to  see  his  consort  confronting  her  ac- 
cusers so  boldly  and  proudly ;  and  he  felt  towards  them  just  as  burn- 
ing wrath  and  hatred,  as  he  had  before  harbored  against  the  Queen. 
He  was  pleased,  that  the  malignant  and  peisistent  persecutors  of  his 
fair  and  proud  wife  should  now  be  humbled  by  her  before  the  eyes  of 
ftll  his  Court, 


39 

Therefore  he  looked  at  her  with  an  imperceptible  smile,  and  said  with 
deep  interest:  But  how  could  this  happen,  my  lady  ?  By  what  path 
did  you  get  thither  \ 

That  is  an  inquiry  which  any  one  except  the  King  is  authorized  to 
make!  King  Henry  alone  knows  the  way  that  I  went!  said  Catharine 
with  a  slight  smile. 

John  Hey  wood,  who  was  still  standing  behind  the  King's  throne,  now 
bent  down  close  to  Henry's  ear,  and  spoke  with  him  a  long  t;me  in  a 
quick,  low  tone. 

The  King  listened  to  him  attentively  ;  then  he  murmured  so  loud 
that  the  bystanders  could  very  well  understand  him  :  By  God,  she  is  a 
spirited  and  brave  woman;  and  we  should  be  obliged  to  cod fess  that, 
even  were  she  not  our  Queen  ! 

Continue,  my  Lady  !  said  he  then  aloud,  turning  to  the  Queen  with  a 
gracious  look;  Relate  to  me,  Catharine,  what  saw  you  then  in  the  tor- 
ture-chamber ? 

Oh,  my  King  and  lord,  it  horrifies  me  only  to  think  of  it,  cried  she 
shuddering  and  turning  pale.  1  saw  a  poor  young  woman,  who  writhed 
in  fearful  agony,  and  whose  staring  eyes  were  raised  in  mute  supplica- 
tion to  heaven.  She  did  not  beg  her  tormenters  for  mercy  ;  she  wanted 
from  them  no  compassion  and  no  pity  ;  she  did  not  scream  and  whine 
from  the  pain,  though  hep  limbs  cracked  and  her"  flesh  snapped  apart 
like  glass  ;  she  raised  her  clasped  hands  to  God.  and  her  lips  murmured 
low  prayers,  which,  perhaps,  made  the  angels  of  heaven  weep,  but 
were  not  able  to  touch  the  hearts  of  her  tormenters.  You  had  ordered 
her  to  be  racked,  if  she  would  not  retract.  They  did  not  ask  her 
whether  she  would  do  this — they  racked  her.  But  her  soul  was  strong 
and  full  of  courage;  and  under  the.  tortures  of  the  executioner,  her 
lips  remained  mute.  Let  theologians  say  and  determine  whether 
Anne  Askew's  faith  was  a  false  one;  but  this  they  will  not  dare 
deny :  that  in  the  noble  enthusiasm  of  this  faith,  sho  was  a  heroine  who 
at  least  did  not  deny  her  God.  At  length,  worn  out  with  so  much  use 
less  exertion,  the  assistant,  executioners  discontinued  their  bloody  woi':. 
to  rest  from  the  tortures  which  they  had  prepared  for  Anne  Askew. 
The  Lieutenant  of  the  Tower  declared  the  work  of  the  rack  ended. 
The  highest  degrees  had  been  applied,  and  they  had  proved  powerless  ; 
cruelty  was  obliged  to  acknowledge  itself  conquered.  But  the  priests 
of  the  Church,  with  savage  vehemence,  demanded  that  she  should  be 
racked  once  more.  Dare  deny  that,  y<-  lords,  whom  I  behold  standing 
there  opposite  with  faces  pale  as  death.  Yes,  my  King,  the  servants  of 
the  rack  refused  to  obey  the  servants  of  God;  for  in  the  hearts  of  the 
hangman's  drudges  there  was  more  pity  than  in  the  hearts  of  the  priests! 
And  when  they  refused  to  proceed  in  thrir  bloody  work,  and  when  the 
Lieutenant  of  the  Tower,  in  virtue  of  the  existing  law,  declared 
the  racking  at.  an  end.  then  I  saw  one  of  the  first  ministers  of  our  Church 
throw  aside  his  sacred  garments ;  then  the  priest  of  God  transformed 
himself  into  a  hangman's  drudge,  who,  with  blood  thirsty  delight,  lacer- 


40 

ated  anew  the  noble  mangled  body  of  the  young  girl,  and  more  cruel 
than  the  attendants  of  the  rack,  unsparingly  broke  and  dislocated  the 
limbs,  which  they  had  only  squeezed  in  their  screws.* — Excuse  me,  my 
King,  from  sketching  this  scene  of  horror  still  farther !  Horrified  and 
trembling,  I  fled  from  that  frightful  place,  and  returned  to  my  room 
shattered,  and  sad  at  heart. 

Catharine  ceased,  exhausted,  and  sank  back  into  her  seat. 

A  breathless  stillness  reigned  around.  All  faces  were  pale  and  color- 
less. Gardiner  and  Wriothesley  stood  with  their  eyes  fixed  gloomy 
and  defiant,  expecting  that  the  King's  wrath  would  crush  and  destroy 
them. 

But  the  King  scarcely  thought  of  them;  he  thought  only  of  his  fair 
youn"  Queen,  whose  boldness  inspired  him  with  respect,  and  whose  in- 
nocence and  purity  filled  him  with  a  proud  and  blissful  joy. 

He  was,  therefore,  very  much  inclined  to  forgive  those,  who  in  reality 
had  committed  no  offence  farther  than  this,  that  they  had  carried  out  a 
little  too  literally  and  strictly  the  orders  of  their  master. 

A  long  pause  had  ensued — a  pause  full  of  expectation  and  anxiety  for 
all  who  were  assembled  in  the  hall.  Only  Catharine  reclined  calmly  in 
her  chair,  and  with  beaming  eyes  looked  across  to  Thomas  Seymour, 
whose  handsome  countenance  betrayed  to  her  the  gratification  and  satis- 
faction which  he  felt  at  this  clearing  up  of  her  mysterious  night  wander- 
ing. 

At  last  the  King  arose,  and  bowing  low  before  his  consort,  said  in  a 
loud,  full  toned  voice:  I  have  deeply  and  bitterly  injured  you,  my  noble 
wife  ;  and  as  I  publicly  accused  you,  I  will  also  publicly  ask  your  for- 
giveness !  You  have  a  right  to  be  angry  with  me ;  for  it  behooved  me 
above  all,  to  believe  with  unshaken  firmness  in  the  truth  and  honor  of 
ray  wife.  My  lady,  you  have  made  a  brilliant  vindication  of  yourself; 
and,  I,  the  King,  first  of  all  bow  before  you,  and  beg  that  you  may  forgive 
me  and  impose  some  penance. 

Leave  it  to  me,  Queen,  to  impose  a  penance  on  this  repentant  sinner ! 
crfed  John  Heywood  gaily.  Your  Majesty  is  much  too  magnanimous, 
much  too  timid,  to  treat  him  as  roughly  as  my  brother  King  Henry 
deserves.  Leave  it  to  me  then  to  punish  him ;  for  only  the  fool  is  wise 
enough  to  punish  the  King  after  his  deserts. 

Catharine  nodded  to  him  with  a  grateful  smile.  She  comprehended 
perfectly  John  Hey  wood's  delicacy  and  nice  tact;  she  apprehended  that 
he  wanted  by  a  joke  to  relieve  her  from  her  painful  situation,  and  put 
an  end  to  the  King's  public  acknowledgement,  which  at  the  same  time 
must  turn  to  her  bitter  reproach — bitter,  though  it  were  only  self  re- 
proach. 

Well,  said  ;he  smiling,  what  punishment  then  will  you  impose  upon 
the  King  ? 

The  punishment  of  recognizing  the  fool  as  his  equal! 

God  is  my  witness,  that  I  do  so  !  exclaimed  the  King  almost  solemn- 
*  Burnet's  History  of  tho  Reformation ;  to).  1,  page  182. 


41 

ly.  Fools  we  are,  one  and  all,  and  we  fall  short  of  the  renown  which  we 
have  before  men. 

But  niy  sentence  is  not  yet  complete,  brother !  continued  John  Hay- 
wood. 1  furthermore  give  sentence,  that  you  also  forthwith  allow  me 
to  recite  my  poem  to  you,  and  that  you  open  your  ears  in  order  to  hear 
what  John  Heywood,  the  wise,  has  indited  ! 

You  have  then  fulfilled  my  command  and  composed  a  uew  interlude? 
cried  the  King  vivaciously. 

No  interlude,  but  a  wholly  novel,  comical  affair — a  play  full  of  lampoons 
and  jokes,  at  which  your  eyes  are  to  overflow,  yet  not  with  weeping,  but 
with  laughter.  To  the  right  noble  Earl  of  Surrey  belongs  the  proud 
honor  of  having  presented  to  our  happy  England  her  first  sonnets.  Well 
now,  I  also  will  give  her  something  new.  I  present  her  the  first  come- 
dy ;  and  as  he  sings  the  beauty  of  his  Geraldine,  so  I  celebrate  the  fame 
of  Gammer  Gurton's  sewing  needle1 — Gammer  Giyton's  needle,  so  my 
piece  is  called  ;  and  you,  King  Henry,  shall  listen  to  it  as  a  punishment 
for  your  sins  ! 

I  will  do  so,  cried  the  King  cheerfully,  provided  you  permit  it,  Kate  ! 
But  before  I  do  so,  I  make  also  one  more  condition.  A  condition,  for 
you,  Queen  !  Kate,  you  have  disdained  to  impose  a  penance  on  me, 
but  grant  me  at  least  the  pleasure  of  being  allowed  to  fulfil  some  wish 
of  yours  !     Make  me  a  request,  that  I  may  giant  it  you! 

Well  then,  my  lord  and  King,  said  Catharine  with  a  charming  smile, 
I  beg  you  to  thiuk  no  more  of  the  incidents  of  this  day,  and  to  forgive 
those,  whom  1  accused  only  because  their  accusation  was  my  vindica- 
tion. They  who  brought  charges  against  me,  have  in  this  hour  felt  con- 
trition for  their  own  fault.  Let  that  suffice,  King,  and  forgive  them,  as 
I  do! 

You  are  ever  a  noble  and  great  woman,  Kate  !  cried  the  King  ;  and 
as  his  glance  swept  over  towards  Gardiner  with  an  almost  contemptuous 
expression,  he  continued  :  Your  request  is  granted  !  But  woe  to  them 
who  shall  dare  accuse  you  again.  And  have  you  nothing  farther  to  de- 
mand, Kate  ? 

Nay,  one  thing  more,  my  lord  and  husband  ! — She  leant  nearer  to  the 
King's  ear  and  whispered  :  They  have  also  accused  your  noblest  and 
most  faithful  servant;  they  have  accused  Cranmer.  Condemn  him  not, 
King,  without  having  heard  him  ;  and  if  1  may  beg  a  favor  of  you,  it  is 
this  :  Talk  with  Cranmer  yourself.  Tell  him  of  what  they  have  charged 
him,  and  hear  his  vindication. 

It  shall  be  so.  Kate,  said  the  King,  and  you  shall  be  present !  But  let 
this  be  a  secret  between  us,  Kate,  and  we  will  carry  it  out  in  perfect  si- 
lence. And  now  then,  John  Heywood,  let  us  hear  \ our  composition  ; 
and  woe  to  you,  if  it  does  not  ftqooinplhh  what  you  promised — if  it  does 
not  make  us  laugh.  For  you  well  know,  that  you  then  are  irevitably 
exposed  to  the  rods  of  our  injured  ladies. 

They  shall  have  leave  to  whip  me  to  death,  if  I  do  not  make  you 
laugh!  cried  John  Heywood  gaily,  as  he  drew  out  his  manuscript. 


42 

Soon  the  hall  rung  again  with  loud  laughter  ;  and  in  the  jniversal  mer- 
riment,  no  one  observed  that  Bishop  Gardiner  and  Jtarl  Douglas  slipped 
quietly  away. 

In  the  anteroom  without,  they  stopped  and  looked  at  each  other,  long 
and  silently  ;  their  countenances  expressed  the  wrath  and  bitterness 
which  fii led  thein  within;  and  they  understood  this  mute  language  of 
their  features. 

She  must  die  !  said  Gardiner  in  a  short  and  quick  tone.  She  has  for 
once  escaped  from  our  snares;  we  will  tie  them  all  the  tighter  next 
time  ! 

And  I  already  hold  in  my  hand  the  threads  out  of  which  we  will  form 
these  snares,  said  Earl  Douglas.  We  have  today  falsely  accused  her 
of  a  love-affair.  When  we  do  it  again,  we  shall  speak  the.  truth.  Did 
you  see  the  looks  that  Catharine  exchanged  with  the  heretical  Earl  Sud- 
ly,  Thomas  Seymour^? 

J  saw  them,  Earl ! 

For  these  looks  she  will  die,  my  Lord.  The  Queen  loves  Thomas  Sey- 
mour; and  this  love  will  b?  her  death. 

Amen  !  said  Bishop  Gardiner  solemnly,  as  he  raised  his  eyes  devout- 
ly to  heaven.  Amen!  The  Queen  has  grievously  and  bitterly  injured 
us  to  day  ;  she  has  insulted  and  abused  us  before  all  the  Court.  We 
will  requite  her  for  it  some  day  !  The  torture-chamber,  which  she  has 
depicted  in  such  lively  colors,  may  yet  one  day  open  for  her,  too — not 
that  she  may  behold  another's  agonies,  but  that  she  may  suffer  agonies 
herself.     We  shall  one  day  avenge  ourselves  ! 


CHAPTER  V. 

REVENGE. 

Miss  Holland,  the  beautiful  and  much  admired  mistress  of  the  Duke 
of  Norfolk,  was  alone  in  her  magnificently  adorned  boudoir.  It  was  the 
hour  when  ordinarily  the  Duke  was  wont  to  be  with  her;  for  this  rea- 
son she  was  charmingly  attired,  and  had  wrapped  herself  in  that  light 
and  voluptuous  negligee  which  the  Duke  so  much  liked,  because  it  set. 
off"  to  so  much  advantage  the  splendid  form  of  his  friend. 

But  to-day  the  expected  one  did  not  make  his  appearance ;  in  his 
stead,  his  valet  had  just  come  and  brought  the  fair  Miss  a  note  from  his 
master.  This  note  she  was  holding  in  her  hand,  while  with  passionate 
violence  she  now  walked  up  and  down  her  boudoir.  A  glowing  crimson 
blazed  upon  her  cheeks,  and  her  large,  haughty  eyes  darted  wild  flashes 
PjF  wrath* 


43 

She  was  disdained — she,  Lady  Holland,  was  forced  to  endure  the  dis- 
grace of  being  dismissed  by  her  lover. 

There,  there  in  that  letter  which  she  held  in  her  hand,  and  which  burn- 
ed her  fingers  like  red-hot.  iron — there  it  stood  in  black  and  white,  that 
he  would  see  her  no  more ;  that  he  renounced  her  love  ;  that  he  releas- 
ed her. 

Her  whole  frame  shook  as  she  thought  of  this.  It  was  not  the  an- 
guish of  a  loving  heart  which  made  her  tremble;  it  was  the  wouuded 
pride  of  the  woman. 

He  had  abandoned  her.  Her  beauty,  her  youth  bo  longer  had  the 
power  to  enchain  him — the  man  with  while  hairs  and  withered  features. 

He  had  written  her,  that  he  was  satiated  and  weary,  not  of  her.  but 
only  of  love  in  general ;  that  his  heart  had  become  old  and  withered 
like  his  face  ;  and  that  there  was  still  in  his  breast  no  more  room  for 
love,  but  only  for  ambition. 

Was  not  that  a  revolting,  an  unheard  of  outrage  :  To  abandon  the 
finest  woman  in  England  for  the  sake  of  empty,  cold,  stern  ambition? 

She  opened  the  letter  once  more.  Once  more  she  read  that  place. 
Then  grinding  her  teeth,  she  said  with  tears  of  anger  in  her  eyes:  He 
shall  pay  me  for  this!     I  will  take  veugeance  for  this  insult ! 

She  thrust  the  letter  into  her  bosom,  and  touched  the  silver  bell. 

Have  my  carriage  brought  round  !  was  her  order  to  the  servaut  who 
entered  ;  and  he  withdrew  in  silence. 

I  will  avenge  myself!  muttered  she,  as  with  trembling  hands  she 
wrapped  herself  in  the  large  Turkish  shawl.  I  will  avenge  myself;  and 
by  the  eternal  God,  it  shall  be  a  bloody  and  swift  vengeance.  1  will 
show  him,  that  1,  too,  am  ambitious,  and  that  my  pride  is  not  to  be  hum 
bled.  He  says  he  will  forget  me ;  Oh,  I  will  compel  him  to  think  of 
me,  even  though  it  be  only  to  curse  me  ! 

With  hasty  step  she  sped  through  the  glittering  apartments,  which  the 
liberality  of  her  lover  had  furnished  so  magnificently,  and  descended  to 
the  carriage  standing  ready  for  her. 

To  the  Duchess  of  Norfolk's  !  said  she  to  the  footman  standing  at  the 
door  of  the  carriage,  as  she  entered  it. 

The  servant  looked  at  her  in  astonishment  and  inquiringly. 

To  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  ;  is  it  not,  my  Lady  ? 

No  indeed,  to  the  Duchess  !  cried  she  with  a  frown,  as  she  leant  back 
on  the  cushion. 

After  a  short  time,  the  carriage  drew  up  before  the  palace  of  the 
Duchess,  and  with  haughty  tread  and  commanding  air  she  passed  through 
the  porch. 

Announce  me  to  the  Duchess  immediately,  was  her  order  to  the  lackey 
who  was  hurrying  to  meet  her. 

Your  name,  my  Lady? 

Mi>s  Arabella  Holland. 

The  servant  stepped  back,  and  stared  at  her  in  surprise.  Miss  Ara- 
bella Holland  ?     And  you  order  me  to  announce  you  to  the  Duchess  ? 


44 

A  contemptuous  smile  played  a  moment  about  the  thin  lips  of  the 
beautiful  Miss.  I  see  you  know  me,  said  she;  and  you  wonder  a  little 
to  see  me  here.  Wonder  as  much  as  you  please,  good  friend  ;  only  con- 
duet  me  immediately  to  the  Duchess. 

I  doubt  whether  her  ladyship  receives  calls  to  day,  stammered  the  ser- 
vant hesitatingly. 

Then  go  and  ask  ;  and  that  1  may  learn  her  answer  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble, I  will  accompany  you. 

With  a  commanding  air,  she  motioned  to  the  servant  to  go  before 
her  ;  and  he  could  not  summon  up  courage  to  gainsay  this  proud  beauty. 

in  silence  they  traversed  the  suite  of  stately  apartments,  and  at  length 
stood  before  a  door  hung  with  tapestry. 

I  must  beg  you  to  wait  here  a  moment,  my  Lady,  so  that  I  can  an- 
nounce you  to  the  Duchess,  who  is  there  in  her  boudoir. 

No  indeed  ;  I  will  assume  that  office  myself,  said  Miss  Holland,  as 
with  strong  hand  she  pushed  back  the  servant  and  opened  the  door. 

The  Duchess  was  sitting  at  her  writing  table,  her  back  turned  to  the 
door  through  which  Arabella  had  entered.  She  did  not  turn  round  ; 
perhaps  she  had  not  heard  the  door  open.  She  continued  quietly 
writing. 

Miss  Arabella  Holland  with  stately  step  crossed  the  room,  and  now 
stood  close  to  the  chair  of  the  Duchess. 

Duchess.  I  would  like  to  speak  with  you,  said  she  cooly  and  calmly. 

The  Duchess  uttered  a  cry  and  looked  up.  Miss  Holland !  cried  she 
amazed,  and  hastily  rising.  Miss  Holland  !  you  here  with  me,  in  my 
house !     What  do  you  want  here?     How  dare  you  cross  my  threshold  ? 

I  s  e  you  still  hate  me,  my  lady  !  said  Arabella  smiling.  You  have 
not  yet  forgiven  me  that  the  Duke,  your  husband,  found  more  delight 
in  my  young,  handsome  face,  than  in  yours  now  growing  old  ;  that  my 
sprightly, wanton  disposition  pleased  him  better  than  your  cold, stately  air. 

The  Duchess  turned  pale  with  rage ;  and  her  eyes  darted  lightning. 
Silence,  you  shameless  creature,  silence,  or  I  will  call  my  servants  to  rid 
me  of  you ! 

You  will  not  call  them  ;  for  I  have  come  to  be  reconciled  with  you, 
and  to  offer  you  peace. 

Peace  with  you  !  sneered  the  Duchess.  Peace  with  that  shameless 
woman  who  stole  from  me  my  husband,  the  father  of  my  children  1 — who 
loaded  m«  with  the  disgrace  of  standing  before  the  whole  world,  as  a  re- 
pudiated and  despised  wife,  and  of  suffering  myselfto.be  compared  with 
you,  that  th.e  world  might  decide  which  of  us  two  was  worthier  of  his  love  % 
Peace  with  you,  Miss  Holland  1 — with  the  impudent  strumpet  who  squan- 
ders my  husband's  means  in  lavish  luxury,  and,  with  scoffing  boldness, 
robs  my  children  of  their  lawful  property  1 

It  is  true,  the  Duke  is  very  generous,  said  Miss  Holland  composedly. 
He  loaded  me  with  diamonds  and  gold. 

And  meanwhile  I  was  doomed  almost  to  suffer  want,  said  the  Duchess 
grinding  her  teeth. 


45 

Want  of  love,  it  may  be,  my  Lady,  but  not  want  of  money  ;  for  you 
are  very  magnificently  fitted  up;  and  every  one  knows  that  the  Duchess 
of  Norfolk  is  rich  enough  to  be  able  to  spare  the  trifles  that  her  husband 
laid  at  my  feet.  By  Heaven,  my  Lady,  I  would  not  have  deemed  it 
worth  the  trouble  to  stoop  for  them,  if  f  had  not  seen  among  there 
trilles  his  heart.  The  heart  of  a  man  is  well  worth  a  woman's- stooping 
for!  You  had  neglected  that,  my  Lady,  and  therefore  you  lost  your  hus- 
band's heart.  1  picked  it  up.  That  is  all.  Why  will  you  make  a  crime 
of  that  ? 

That  is  enough  !  cried  the  Duchess.  It  does  not.  become  me  to  dis- 
pute with  you  ;  I  desire  only  to  know  what  gave  you  the  courage  to 
come  to  me  ? 

My  Lady,  do  you  hate  me  only  ?  Or  do  you  also  hate  the  Duke, 
your  husband  ? 

She  asks  me  whether  I  hate  him  !  cried  the  Duchess  with  a  wild, 
scornful  laugh.  Yes,  Miss  Holland,  yes  !  I  hate  him  as  ardently  as  I 
despise  you.  1  hate  him  so  much  that  I  would  give  my  whole  estate — 
aye,  years  of  my  life — if  I  could  puni-h  him  for  the  disgrace  he  has  put 
upon  me. 

Then,  my  Lady,  we  shall  soon  understand  each  other;  for  I  too  hate 
him,  said  Miss  Holland,  quietly  seating  herself  on  the  velvet  divan,  and 
smiling  as  she  observed  the  speechless  astonishment  of  the  Duchess. 

Yes,  my  Lady,  I  hate  him  ;  and  without  doubt  still  more  ardently,  still 
more  intensely  than  you  yourself;  for  I  am  young  and  fiery  ;  you  are 
old,  and  have  always  managed  to  preserve  a  cool  heart. 

The  Duchess  was  convulsed  with  rage  ;  but  silently,  and  with  an  effort, 
she  gulphed  down  the  drop  of  wormwood  which  her  wicked  rival  mingled 
in  the  cup  of  joy  which  she  presented  to  her. 

You  do  hate  him,  Miss  Holland1?  asked  she  joyfully. 

I  hate  him,  and  I  have  come  to  league. myself  with  you  against  him. 
He  is  a  traitor,  a  perfidious  wretch,  a  perjurer.  I  will  take  vengeance 
for  my  disgrace  ! 

Ah,  has  he  then  deserted  you  also  1 

He  has  deserted  me  also.  ' 

Well  then,  God  be  praised  !  cried  the  Duchess,  and  her  face  beamed 
with  joy.  God  is  great  and  just;  and  he  has  punished  you  with  the 
same  weapons  with  which  you  sinned  !  For  your  sake,  he  deserted  me; 
and  for  the  sake  of  another  woman,  he  fnr<akes  you. 

Not  so,  my  Lady  !  said  Miss  Holland  proudly.  A  woman  like  me  is 
not  forsaken  on  account  of  a  woman  ;  and  he  who  loves  me  will  love  no 
other  afier  me.     There,  read  his  letter! 

She  handedthe  Duchess  her  husband's  letter. 

And  what  do  you  want  to  do  now  ?  asked  the  Duchess  after  she  had 
read  it. 

I  will  have  revenge,  my  Lady  !  He  says  he  no  longer  has  a  heart  to 
love. ;  well  now,  we  will  so  manage,  that  he  may  no  longer  have  a  head 
to  think.     Will  you  be  my  ally,  my  Lady  ? 


46 

1  will. 

And  1  also  will  be,  said  the  Duchess  of  Richmond,  who  just  then 
opened  the  door  and  came  out  of  the  adjoining  room. 

Not  a  word  of  this  entire  conversation  had  escaped  her,  and  she  very 
well  understood  that  the  question  was  not  about  some  p«tty  vengeance, 
but  her  father's  head.  She  knew  that  Miss  Holland  was  not  a  woman 
that,  when  irritated,  pricked  with  a  pin  ;  but  one  that  grasped  the  dagger 
to  strike  her  enemy  a  mortal  blow. 

Yes,  I  too  will  be  your  ally,  cried  the  Duchess  of  Richmond  ;  we  have 
all  three  been  outraged  by  the  same  man.  Let,  then,  our  revenge  be  a 
common  one.  The  father  has  insulted  you  ;  the  son,  me.  Well  then, 
I  wiil  help  you  to  strike  the  father,  if  you  in  return  will  assist  me  to 
destroy  the  son. 

1  will  assist  you,  said  Arabella  smiling  ;  for  I  also  hate  the  haughty 
Earl  of  Surrey,  who  prides  himself  on  his  virtue,  as  if  it  were  a  golden 
fleece  which  God  himself  had  stuck  on  his  breast.  I  hate  him;  for  he 
never  meets  me  but  with  proud  disregard  ;  and  he  alone  is  to  blame  for 
his  father's  faithlessness. 

1  was  present  when  with  tears  he  besought  the  Duke,  our  father,  to 
free  himself  frotn  your  fetters,  and  give  up  this  shameful  and  disgraceful 
connexion  with  you,  said  the  young  Duchess. 

Arabella  [answered  nothing.  But  she  pressed  her  hands  firmly  to- 
gether, and  a  slight  pallor  overspread  her  cheeks. 

And  why  are  you  angry  with  your  brother?  asked  the  old  Duchess 
thoughtfully. 

Why  am  1  angry  with  him,  do  you  ask,  my  mother?  I  am  not  angry 
with  him  ;  but  1  execrate  him,  and  I  have  sworn  to  myself  never  to  rest 
till  I  have  avenged  myself.  My  happiness,  my  heart,  and  my  future,  lay 
in  his  hands;  and  he  has  remorselessly  trodden  under  his  haughty  feet 
these — his  sister's  precious  treasures.  It  lay  with  him  to  make' me  the 
wife  of  the  man  1  love ;  and  he  has  not  done  it,  though  I  lay  at  his  feet 
weeping  and  wringing  my  hands. 

But  it  was  a  great  sacrifice  that  you  demanded,  said  her  mother.  He 
had  to  give  his  hand  to  a  woman  he  did  not  love,  so  that  you  might  be 
Thomas  Seymour's  wife. 

Mother,  you  defend  him  ;  and  yet  he  it  is  that  blames  you  daily  ; 
and  but  yesterday  it  seemed  to  him  perfectly  right  and  natural  that  the 
Duke  had  forsaken  you,  our  mother. 

Did  he  do  that?  inquired  the  Duchess  vehemently.  Well  now,  as 
he  has  forgotten  that  1  am  his  mothar,  so  will  I  forget  that  he  is  my 
son.  lam  your  ally!  Revenge  for  our  injured  hearts!  Vengeance 
on  father  and  son ! 

She  held  out  both  hands,  and  the  two  young  women  laid  their  hands 
in  hers. 

Vengeance  on  father  and  son  !  repeated  they  both ;  and  their  eyes 
flashed,  and  crimson  now  mantled  their  cheeks. 

I  am  tired  of  living  like  a  hermit  in  my  palace,  and  of  beiDg  ban- 


47 

ished  from  Court  by  the  fear  that  I  may  encounter  my  husband  there. 

You  shall  encounter  him  there  no  more,  said  her  daughter  laconically. 

Tliey  shall  not  laugh  and  jeer  at  me,  cried  Arabella.  And  when  they 
learn  that  he  has  forsaken  me,  they  shall  also  know,  how  1  have  avenged 
myself  for  it. 

Thomas  Seymour  can  never  become  my  husband,  so  long  as  Henry 
Howard  lives;  for  he  has  mortally  offended  him,  as  Henry  has  rejected 
the  hand  of  his  sister.  Perhaps  I  may  become  his  wife,  if  Henry  How 
ard  is  no  more,  said  the  young  Duchess.  So  let  us  consider.  How 
shall  we  begiu,  so  as  co  strike  them  surely  and  certainly  ? 

When  three  women  are  agreed,  they  may  well  be  certain  of  their  suc- 
cess, said  Arabella  shrugging  her  shoulders.  We  live — God  be  praised 
for  it — under  a  noble  and  high  minded  King,  who  beholds  the  blood  of 
his  subjects  with  as  much  pleasure  as  he  does  the  crimson  of  his  royal 
mautle,  and  who  has  never  yet  shrunk  back  when  a  death  warrant  was 
to  be  signed. 

But  this  time  he  will  shrink  back,  said  the  old  Duchess.  He  will 
not  dare  to  rob  the  noblest  and  most  powerful  family  of  his  kingdom  of 
its  head. 

That  very  risk  will  stimulate  him,  said  the  Duchess  of  Richmond 
laughing  ;  and  the  more  difficult  it  is  to  bring  down  these  heads,  so 
much  the  more  impatiently  will  he  hanker  after  it.  The  King  hate* 
them  both  ;  and  he  will  thank  us,  if  we  change  his  hatred  into  retribu- 
tive justice. 

Then  let  us  accuse  both  of  high  treason  !  cried  Arabella  The  Duke 
is  a  traitor ;  for  1  will  and  can  swear  that  he  has  often  enough  called 
the  King  a  blood-thirsty  tiger,  a  relentless  tyrant,  a  man  without  truth 
aud  without  faith,  although  he  coquettishly  pretends  to  be  the  fountain 
and  rock  of  all  faith. 

If  he  has  said  that,  and  you  heard  him,  you  are  in  duty  bound  to  com 
municate  it  to  the  King,  if  you  do  not  want  to  be  a  traitoress  yourself, 
exclaimed  the  young  Duchess  solemnly. 

And  have  you  not  noticed,  that  the  Duke  has  for  som<*  time  borne 
the  same  coat  of  arms  as  the  King?  asked  the  Duchess  of  Norfolk.  It 
is  not  enough  for  his  haughty  and  ambitious  spirit  to  be  the  first  ser- 
vant of  this  land  ;  he  strives  to  be  lord  and  king  of  it. 

Tell  that  to  the  King,  and  by  to  morrow  the  head  of  the  traitor  falls. 
For  the  King  is  as  jealous  of  his  kingdom  as  ever  a  woman  was  of  her 
lover.  Tell  him  that  the  Duke  bears  his  coat  of  arras,  and  his  destruc- 
tion is  certain. 

J  will  tell  him  so,  daughter. 

We  are  sure  of  the  father,  but  what  have  we  for  the  son  ? 

A  sure  and  infallible  means,  that  will  as  certainly  despatch  him  into 
eternity  as  the  hunter's  tiny  bullet  slays  the  proudest  stag.  Henry 
loves  the  Queen ;  and  I  will  furnish  the  King  proof  of  that,  said  the 
young  Duchess. 

Then  let  us  go  to  the  King!  cried  Arabella  impetuously. 


48 

No,  indeed  !  That  would  make  a  sensation,  and  might  easily  frus- 
trate our  whole  plan,  said  the  Duchess  of  Richmond.  Let  us  first  talk 
with  Earl  Douglas,  and  hear  his  advice.  Come ;  every  minute  is  pre- 
cious !  We  owe  it  to  our  womanly  honor  to  avenge  ourselves.  We 
cannot,  and  will  not  leave  unpunished  those  who  have  despised  our 
love,  wounded  our  honor  and  trodden  under  foot  the  holiest  ties  of  na- 
ture ! 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    ACKNOWLEDGMENT. 

The  Princess  Elizabeth  was  sitting  in  her  room,  melancholy  and  ab 
sorbed  in  thought.  Her  eyes  were  red  with  weeping  ;  and  she  pressed 
her  hand  on  her  heart,  as  if  she  would  repress  its  cry  of  anguish. 

With  a  disconsolate,  perplexed  look  she  gazed  around  her  chamber, 
and  its  solitude  was  doubly  painful  to  her  today,  for  it  testified  to  her 
forsaken  condition,  to  the  disgrace  that  still  rested  on  her.  For  were 
it  not  so,  today  would  have  been  to. the  whole  Court  a  day  of  rejoicing, 
of  congratulations. 

To  day  was  Elizabeth's  birth  day ;  fourteen  years  ago  to-day,  Anne 
Boleyn's  daughter  had  seen  the  light  of  this  world. 

Anne  Boleyn's  daughter!  That  was  the  secret  of  her  seclusion. 
That  was  why  none  of  the  ladies  and  lords  of  the  Court  had  remem- 
bered her  birth- day  ;  for  that  .would  have  been  at  the  same  time  a  re- 
membrance of  Anne  Boleyn,  of  Elizabeth's  beautiful  and  unfortunate 
mother,  who  had  been  made  to  atone  for  her  grandeur  and  prosperity 
by  her  death. 

Moreover,  the  King  had  called  his  daughter  Elizabeth  a  bastard,  and 
solemnly  declared  her  unworthy  of  succeeding  to  the  throne. 

Her  birthday,  therefore,  was  to  Elizabeth  only  a  day  of  humiliation 
and  pain.  Reclining  on  her  divan,  she  thought  of  her  despised  and 
joyless  past,  of  her  desolate  and  inglorious  future. 

She  was  a  Princess,  and  yet  possessed  not  the  rights  of  her  birth  ;  she 
was  a  young  maiden,  and  yet  doomed,  in  sad  resignation,  to  renounce  all 
all  the  delights  and  enjoyments  of  youth,  and  to  condemn  her  passionate 
and  ardent  heart  to  the  eternal  sleep  of  death.  For  when  the  Infant  of 
Spain  sued  for  her  hand,  Henry  the  Eighth  had  declared  that  the  bastard 
Elizabeth  was  unworthy  of  a  princely  husband.  But  in  order  to  intim- 
idato  other  suitors  also,  he  had  loudly  and  openly  declared  that  uo  sub- 


ject  should  dare  be  so  presumptuous  as  to  offer  his  hand  to  one  of  his 
royal  daughters,  and  he  who  dared  to  solicit  them  in  marriage  should  be 
punishe.l  as  a  traitor. 

So  Elizabeth  was  condemued  to  remain  unmarried  ;  and  nevertheless 
she  loved  ;  and  nevertheless  she  harbored  only  this  une  wish,  to  be  the 
wife  of  her  beloved,  and  to  be  able  to  exchange  the  proud  title  of  Prin- 
cess for.  the  name  of  Countess  Sevmour. 

Since  she  loved  him,  a  new  world,  a  new  sun  had  arisen  od  her ;  and 
before  the  sweet  and  enchanting  whispers  of  her  love,  even  the  proud 
and  alluring  voices  of  her  ambition  had  to  be  silent.  She  no  longer 
thought  of  it,  that  she  would  never  be  a  queen  ;  she  Tvas  only  troubled, 
that  she  could  not  be  Seymour's  wife. 

She  no  longer  wanted  to  rule,  but  she  wauted  to  be  happy.  But  her 
happiness  reposed  on  him  alone — on  Thomas  Seymour. 

Such  were  her  thoughts,  as  *he  was  in  her  chamber  on  the  morning 
of  her  birth  day,  alone  and  lonely  ;  and  her  eyes  reddened  by  tears, 
her  painfully  'convulsed  li;>s  betrayed  how  much  she  had  wept  to-day  ; 
how  much  this  young  girl  of  fourteen  years  had  already  suffered. 

But  she  would  think  no  more  about  it ;  she  would  not  allow  the  lurk- 
ing, everywhere-prying,  malicious  and  wicked  courtiers  the  triumph  of 
seeing  the  traces  of  her  tears,  and  rejoicing  at  her  pains  and  her  humil- 
iation. She  was  a  proud  and  resolute  soul ;  she  would  rather  have  died, 
thau  to  have  accepted  the  sympathy  and  pity  of  the  courtiers. 

1  will  work,  said  she.     Work  is  the  best  balm  for  all  pains. 

And  she  took  up  the  elaborate  silk  embroidery  which  she  had  begun 
for  her  poor,  unfortunate  friend,  Anne  of  Cleves,.  Henry's  divorced  wife. 
But  the  work  occupied  only  her  fingers;  not  her  thoughts. 

She  threw  it  aside  and  seized  her  books.  She  took  Petrarch's  Son- 
neis;  and  his  love-plaints  and  griefs  euchained  and  stirred  her  own  love- 
sick heart. 

With  streaming  tears,  and  yet  smiling  and  full  of  sweet  melancholy, 
Elizabeth  read  these  noble  and  tender  poems.  It  appeared  to  her  as  if 
Petrarch  hid  only  said  what  she  herself  so  warmly  felt.  There  were 
her  thoughts,  her  griefs.  He  had  said  them  in  his  language  ;  she  must 
now  repeat  them  in  her  own.  kShe  seated  herself,  and  with  hands  trem- 
bling with  enthusiasm,  flattering  breath,  perfectly  excited  and  glowing, 
in  glad  haste,  *he.  began  a  translation  o^  Petrarch's  first  sonnet.* 

A  loud  knock  interrupted  her;  and  in  the  hastily  opened  door  now; 
appeared  the  lovely  form  of  the  Queen. 

The  Queen  !  exclaimed  Etizabeth  with  delight.  Have  you  come  to 
me  at  such  an  early   morning  hour? 

And  should  1  wail  till  evening  to  wish  my  Elizabeth  happiness  on 
her  festival?     Should  J   fust  Kt    the   sun  go  down  on  this  day,  which 

*  Elizabeth,  who  even  a*  n  trirl  of  twelve  yearn  old  (poke  four  languages,  wns  very  fond  of  com- 
posing verses,  and  of  translating  the  poems  of  foreign  authors.  But  aho  kept  her  skill  in  this  re- 
aped very  secret,  and  was  alwnys  *rry  angry  if  any  one  by  i-hance  saw  h;k- <>r  her  pnema.  After 
her  death  there  were  found  nm  ng  hi-r  papers  many  trani  Bonnets 

wbich.wero  the  work  of  her  earliest  youth.— Lcli,  vol.  1,  page  ISO, 

I 


50 

gave  to  England  so  noble  and  fair  a  Princess?  asked  Catharine.  Or 
you  thought,  perhaps,  I  did  not  know  that  this  was  your  birthday,  and 
that  today  my  Elizabeth  advances  from  the  years  of  childood,  as  a 
proud  maiden  full  of  hope  ? 

Full  of  hope?  said  Elizabeth  sadly.  Anne  Boleyn's  daughter  has 
no  hopes ;  and  when  you  speak  of  my  birthday,  you  remind  me  at  the 
same  time  of  my  despised  birth  ! 

It  shall  be  despised  no  longer !  cried  Catharine,  and,  as  she  put  her 
arm  tenderly  around  Elizabeth's  neck,  she  handed  her  a  roll  of  parch- 
ment. , 

Take  that,  Elizabeth  ;  and  may  this  paper  be  to  you  the  promise  of 
a  joyful  and  brilliant  future!  At  my  request  the  King  has  made  this 
law,  and  he,  therefore,  granted  me  the  pleasure  of  bringing  it  to  you. 

Elizabeth  opened  the  parchment  and  read;  and  a  radiant  expression 
overspread  her  countenance. 

Acknowledged!  I  am  acknowledged!  cried  she.  The  disgrace  of 
my  birth  is  taken  away  !  Elizabeth  is  no  more  a  bastard — she  is  a 
royal  Princess  ! 

And  she  may  some  day  be  a  queen  !  said  Catharine  smiling. 

Oh,  cried  Elizabeth,  it  is  not  that  which  stirs  me  with  such  joy.  But 
the  disgrace  of  ray  birth  is  taken  away  ;  and  I  may  freely  hold  up  my 
head  and  name  my  mother's  name  !  Now.  thou  mayest  sleep  calmly  in 
thy  grave,  for  it  is  no  longer  dishonored  !  Anne  Bolevn  was  no  strum- 
pet ;  she  was  King  Henry's  lawful  wife,  and  Elizabeth  is  the  King's 
legitimate  daughter !     I  thank  thee,  my  God — 1  thank  thee! 

And  the  young,  passionate  girl  threw  herself  on  her  knees,  and  raised 
her  hands  and  her  eyes  t©  heaven. 

Spirit  of  my  glorified  mother,  said  she  solemnly,  I  call  thee !  Come 
to  me!  Overshadow  me  with  thy  smile,  and  bless  me  with  thy  breath! 
Queen  Anne  of  England,  thy  daughter  is  no  longer  a  bastard,  and  no  one 
dare  venture  more  to  insult  her.  Thou  wert  with  me  when  I  wept  and 
suffered,  my  mother;  and  often  in  my  disgrace  and  humiliation,  it  was  as 
if  I  heard  thy  voice  which  whispered  comfort  to  me;  as  if  I  saw  thy 
heavenly  eyes  which  poured  peace  and  love  into  my  breast!  Oh,  abide 
with  me  now  also,  my  mother — now  when  my  disgrace  is  taken  away, 
abide  with  me  in  my  prosperity  ;  and  guard  my  heart,  that  it  may  be 
kept  pure  from  arrogance  and  pride,  and  remain  humble  in  its  joy  ! 
^Anne  Boleyn,  they  laid  thy  beautiful,  innocent  head  upon  the  block  ;  but 
this  parchment  sets  upon  it  again  the  royal  crown ;  and,  woe,  woe  to 
those  who  will  now  still  dare  insult  thy  memory  ! 

She  sprang  from  her  knees  and  rushed  to  the  wall  opposite,  on  which 
was  a  large  oil  painting,  which  represented  Elizabeth  herself  as  a  child 
playing  with  a  dog. 

Oh,  mother,  mother!  said  she.  This  picture  was  the  last  earthly 
thing  on  which  thy  looks  rested  ;  and  to  these  painted  lips  of  thy  child 
thou  gave;-t,  thy  last  kiss,  which  thy  cruel  hangmen  would  not  allow  to 
thv  living  child. 


hand  to  olFer  to  his  ambition  at  once  power  and  glory — it  may  bo  oven 
a  crown.  Oh,  Catharine,  on  my  kmes  I  conjure  you — assist  me  to  re- 
peal this  hated  law,  which  wants  to  bind  my  heart  and  my  hand. 

In  passionate  excitement  she  had  fallen  before  the  Queen,  and  was 
holding  up  her  hands  imploringly  to  her. 

Catharine,  smiling,  bent  down  and  raised  her  up  in  her  arms.  En- 
thusiast, said  she,  poor  young  enthusiast!  Who  knows  whether  you 
will  thank  me  for  it  one  day,  if  I  accede  to  your  wish  ;  and  whether  you 
will  not  some  time  curse  this  hour  which  has  brought  you,  perhaps,  in- 
stead of  the  hoped-for  pleasure,  only  a  knowledge  of  your  delusion  and 
misery. 

And  were  it  even  so!  cried  Elizabeth  energetically,  still  it  is  better 
to  endure  a  wretchedness  we  ourselves  have  chosen,  than  to  be  forced 
to  a  happy  lot.  Say  Catharine — say  will  you  lend  me  your  assistance1? 
Will  you  induce  the  King  to  withdraw  this  hated  clause?  If  you  do  it 
not,  Queen,  I  swear  to  you  by  the  soul  of  my  mother,  that  1  will  not 
submit  to  this  law ;  that  I  will  solemnly,  before  all  the  world,  renounce 
the  privilege  that  is  offered  me;  that  I 

You  are  a  dear,  foolish  child,  interrupted  Catharine — a  child,  that  in 
youthful  presumption  might  dare  wish  to  fetch  the  lightnings  down  from 
heaven,  and  borrow  from  Jupiter  his  thunderbolt.  Oh,  you  are  still  so 
young  and  inexperienced,  not  to  know  that  fate  regards  not  our  mur- 
murs and  our-r-ighs,  and  despite  our  reluctance  and  our  refusal,  still  leads 
us  its  own  ways,  not  our  own.  You  will  have  to  learn  that  yet,  poor 
child ! 

But  I  will  not!  cried  Elizabeth  stamping  on  the  floor  with  all  the  pet- 
tishness  of  a  child.  I  will  not  ever  and  eternally  be  the  victim  of  an 
other's  will  ;  and  fate  itself  shall  not  have  power  to  make  me  its  slave ! 

Well,  we  will  see  now,  said  Catharine  smiling.  We  will  try  this 
time,  at  least,  to  contend  against  fate;  and  I  will  assist  you  if  I  can. 

And  I  will  love  you  for  it  as  my  mother  and  my  sister  at  once,  cried 
Elizabeth,  as  with  ardor  she  threw  herself  into  Catharine's  arms.  Yes, 
I  will  love  you  for  it ;  and  I  will  pray  God,  that  he  may  one  day  give 
me  the  opportunity  to  show  my  gratitude,  and  to  reward  you  for  your 
magnanimity  and  goodness. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

INTRIGUES. 

For  a  few  days  past  the  King's  gout  had  grown  worse,  and  to  hrs 
wrath  and  grief  it  confined  him  as  a  prisoner  to  his  rolling  chair. 

The  King  was,  therefore,  very  naturally  gloomy  and  dejected,  and, 
hurled  the  lightnings  of  his  wrath  on  all  those  who  enjoyed  the  melan- 
choly prerogative  of  being  in  his  presence.  His  pains,  instead  of  soften 
ing  his  disposition,  seemed  only  to  heighten  still  more  his  natural  fero- 
city ;  and  often  might  be  heard  through  the  halls  of  the  palace  of  White- 
hall the  King's  angry  growl,  and  his  loud  thundering  invectives,  which 
no  longer  spared  any  one,  nor  stowed  respect  for  any  rank  or  dignity. 

Earl  Douglas,  Gardiner  and  Wrioihesley  very  well  knew  how  to  take 
advantage  of  this  wratjfeful  humor  of  the  King  for  their  purposes,  and  to 
afford  the  King,  tortured  with  pain,  one  satisfaction  at  least — the"  satis- 
faction of  making  others  sutfer  ajso.. 

Never  had  there  been  seen  in  England  so  many  burnt  at  the  stake,  as 
in  those  days  of  the  King's  sickness ;  never  had  the  prisons  been  so 
crowded  ;  never  had  so  much  blood  flowed  as  King  Henry  now  caused 
to  be  shed.* 

But  all  this  did  not  yet  suffice  to  appease  the  blood-thirstiness  of  the 
King,  and  his  friends  and  councellors,  and  his  priests. 

Still  there  remained  untouched  two  mighty  pillars  of  protestantism 
that  Gardiner  and  Wriothesley  had  to  overthrow.  These  were  the 
Quceu  and  Archbishop  Cranmer. 

Still  there  were  two  powerful  and  haled  enemies  whom  the  Seymour's 
had  fco  overcome  ;  these  were  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  and  his  son,  the  Earl 
of  Surrey. 

But  the  various  parties  that  in  turn  beseiged  the  King's  ear  and  con- 
trolled it,  were  in  singular  and  unheard  of  opposition,  and  at  the  same 
time  inflamed  with  bitterest  enmity,  and  they  strove  to  supplant  each 
other  in  the  favor  of  the  King. 

To  the  popish  party  of  Gardiner  and  Earl  Douglas,  everything  de- 
pended on  dispossessing  the  Seymours  of  the  King's  favor ;  and  they, 
on  the  other  hand,  wanted  above  all  things  to  continue  in  power  the 
young  Queen  already  inclined  to  them,  and  to  destroy  for  the  papists 
one  of  their  most  powerful  leaders,  the  Duke  of  Norfolk. 

The  one  party  controlled  the  King's  ear  through  the  Queen  ;  the  other 
through  his  favorite  Earl  Douglas. 

♦During  the  King's  reign,  and  at  the  instigation  of  the  clergy,  2800  pereons  were  burnt  and  ex- 
ecuted, becaus*  they  would  not  recognize  the  religious  institutions,  established  by  the  King,  as  the 
only  right  and  true  ones.    Leti,  vol.  1,  page  84 


Never  had  the  King  been  'more  gracious  and  affable  to  his  consort ; 
never  had  he  required  more  Earl  Douglas'  presence  than  in  those  days 
of  his  sickness  and  bodily  anguish. 

But  there  was  yet  a  third  party  that  occupied  an  important  place  in 
the  King's  favor — a  power  that  every  one  feared,  and  which  seemed  1<> 
keep  itself  perfectly  independent  and  free  from  all  foreign  influences. 
This  power  was  John  Heywood,  the  King's  fool,  the  epigrammatist,  who 
was  dreaded  by  the  whole  Court. 

Only  one  person   had   influence   with  him.     John    Heyw.ood  was  the 
friend  of  the  Queen.      For  tho  moment,  then,  it  appeared  as  the  "  hereti 
cal  parly,"  of  which  the  Queen  was  regarded  as  the  head,  was  the  most 
poweiful  at  Court. 

It.  was,  therefore,  very  natural  for  the  popish  party  to  cherish  an  ardent 
hatred  against  the  Queen  ;  very  natural  for  them  to  be  contriving  new 
plots  and  machinations  to  ruin  her,  and  hurl  her  from  the  throne. 

But  Catharine  knew  very  well  the  danger  that  threatened  her ;  and 
she  was  on  her  guard.  She  watched  her  every  look,  her  every  word  ; 
and  Gardiner  and  Douglas  could  not  examine  the  Queen's  manner  of 
life  each  day  and  hour,  more  suspiciously  than  she  herself  did. 

She  saw  the  sword  that  hung  daily  over  her  head  ;  and  thanks  to  her 
prudence  and  presence  of  mind — thanks  to  the  ever  thoughtful  watchful- 
ness and  cunning  of  her  friend  Heywood  ;  she  had  still  known  how  to 
avoid  the  falling  of  that  sword. 

Since  that  fatal  ride  in  the  wood  of  Epping  Forest,  she  had  not.  again 
spoken  to  Thomas  Seymour  aloue ;  for  Catharine  very  well  knew  that 
everywhere,  whithersoever  she  turned  her  steps,  some  spying  eye  might 
follow  her,  6ome  listener's  ear  might  be  concealed,  which  might  hear  her 
words  however  softly  whispered,  and  repeat  them  where  they  might  be 
interpreted  into  a  sentence  of  death  against  her. 

She  had.  therefore,  renounced  the  pleasure  of  speaking  to  her  lover 
otherwise  than  before  witnesses,  and  of  seeing  him  otherwise  than  in 
the  presence  of  her  whole  Court. 

What  need  had  she  either  for  secret  meetings  1  What  mattered  it,  to 
her  pure  and  innocent  heart  tha'  she  was  not  permitted  to  be  alone  with 
him  1  Still  she  might  see  him,  and  drink  courage  and  delight  from  the 
sight  of  his  haughty  and  handsonre  face;  still  she  might'  be  near  him, 
and  could  listen  to  the  music  of  his  voice,  and  intoxicate  her  heart  with 
his  fine  euphonious  and  vigorous  discourse. 

Catharine,  flu*  woman  of  eight  and  twenty,  had  preserved  the  enthusi- 
asm and  innocence  of  a  youtfg  girl  •  f  fourteen.  Thomas  Seymour  was 
her  first  love ;  and  she  loved  him  with  that  purity  and  guileless  warmth 
which  is  indeed  peculiar  to  the  first  love  only. 

It  sufficed  her,  therefore,  to  see  him  ;  to  be  near  him  ;  to  know  that 
he  loved  her;  that  he  was  true  to  her;  that  all  his  thoughts  and  wishes 
belonged  to  her  ;  as  hers  to  him. 

And  that  she  knew.  For  there  ever  remained  to  her  the  sweet  en- 
joyment of  his  letters — of  those  passionate  written  avowals  of  his  love, 


It  she  was  not  permitted  to  say  also  to  him  how  warmly  and  ardently 
she  returned  this  love,  vet  she  could  write-it  to  him. 

It  was  John  Hey  wood,  the  true  and  discreet  friend,  that  brought  her 
these  letters,  and  bore  her  answers  to  him,  stipulating,  as  a  reward  for 
this  dangerous  commission,  that  they  both  should  regard  him  as  the  sgle 
confidant  of  their  love;  that  both  should  burn  up  the  letters  which  he 
brought  them.  He  had  not  been  able  to  hinder  Catharine  from  this 
unhappy  passion,  but  wanted  at  least  to  preserve  her  from  the  fatal  con- 
sequences of  it.  Since  he  knew  that  this  love  needed  a  confidant,  he  as- 
sumed this  role,  that  Catharine,  in  the  vehemence  of  her  passion,  and  in 
the  simplicity  of  her  innocent  heart,  might  not  make  others  sharers  of 
her  dangerous  secret. 

John  Hey  wood  therefore  watched  over  Catharine's  safety  and  happi- 
ness, as  she  watched  over  Thomas  Seymour  aud  her  friends.  He  pro- 
tected and  guarded  her  with  the  King,  as  she  guarded  Cranmer,  and  pro- 
tected him  from  the  constantly  renewed  assaults  of  his  enemies. 

This  it  was  that  they  could  never  forgive  the  Queen — that  she  had 
delivered  Cranmer,  the  noble  aud  liberal-minded  Archbishop  of  Canter- 
bury, from  their  snares.  More  than  once  Catharine  had  succeeded  in 
destroying  their  intrigueing schemes,  and  in  rending  the  nets  that  Gardi- 
ner and  Earl  Douglas,  with  so  sly  and  skillful  hand,  had  spread  for 
Cranmer.  . 

If  therefore  they  would  overthrow  Cranmer,  they  must  first  overthrow 
the  Queen.  For  this  there  was  a  real  means — a  means  of  destroying  at 
once  the  Queen  and  the  hated  Seymours,  who  stood  in  the  way  of  the 
papists. 

If  they  coulJ  prove  to  the  King  that  Catharine  entertained  criminal 
intercourse  with  Thomas  Seymour,  then  were  they  both  lost;  then  were 
the  power  and  glory  of  the  papists  secured. 

But  whence  to  fetch  the  proofs  of  this  dangerous  secret,  which  the 
crafty  Douglas  had  read  only  in  Catharine's  eyes,  and  for  which  he  had 
no  other  support  than  his  bare  conviction?  How  should  they  begin  to 
influence  the  Queen  to  some  inconsiderate  step,  to  a  speaking  witness  of 
her  love? 

Time  hung  so  heavily  on  the  King's  hands  !  It  would  have  been  so 
easy  to  persuade  him  to  some  cruel  deed — to  a  hasty  sentence  of  death  ! 

But  it  was  not  the  blood  of  the  Seymours  for  which  the  King  thirsted. 
Earl  Douglas  very  well  knew  that.  He,  who  observed  the  King  day 
and  night— rhe,  who  examined  and  sounded  his  every  sigh,  each  of  his 
softly  murmured  words,  every  twitch  of  his  mouth,  every  wrinkle  of 
his  brow — he  well  knew  what  dark  and.  bloody  thoughts  stirred  the 
King's  soul,  and  whose  blood  it  was  for  which  he  thirsted. 

The  royal  tiger  would  drink  the  blood  of  the  Howards;  and  that  they 
still  lived  in  health  and  abundance  and  glory,  while  he,  their  King  and 
master,  lonely  and  sad,  was  tossing  on  his  couch  in  pain  and  agony — that 
was  the  worm  which  gnawed  at  the  Kiug's  heart,  which  made  his  pains 
yet  more  painful  ;  his  tortures  yet  keener. 


5S 

The  King  was  jealous — jealous  of  the  power  and  greatness  of  I  he 
Howards,  it  filled  hind  with  gloomy  hatred,  to  think  that  the  Duke  of 
Norfolk,  when  he  rode  through  the  streets  of  London,  was  everywhere 
received  with  the  acclamations  and  rejoicing  of  the  people,  while  he,  the 
4ung,  was  a  prisoner  in  his  palace.  It  was  a  gnawing  pain  for  him  to 
know  that  Henry  Howard,  Earl  Surrey,  was  praised  as  the  handsomest 
and  greatest  man  of  England  ;  that  he  was  called  the  noblest  poet;  the 
greatest  scholar;  while  yet  he,  the  King,  had  also  composed  Ins  poems 
and  written  his  learned  treatises,  aye  even  a  particular  devout  book, 
which  he  had  had  printed  for  his  people,  and  ordered  them  to  read  it 
instead  of  the  Bible.* 

It  was  the  Howards  who  everywhere  disputed  his  fame.  The  How 
ards  supplanted  him  in  the  favor  of  his  people,  and  usurped  the  love 
and  admiration  which  were  due. to  the  King  alone,  and  which  should  be 
directed  towards  no  one  but  him.  He  lay  on  his  bed  of  pain,  and  with 
out  doubt  the  people  would  have  forgotten  him,  if  he  had  not  by  the 
block,  the  stake  and  the  scaffold,  daily  reminded  them  of  himself.  He 
lay  on  his  bed  of  pain,  while  the  Duke,  splendid  and  magnificent,  exhibit- 
ed himself  to  the  people  and  transported  them  with  enthusiasm  by  the 
lavish  and  kingly  generosity  with  which  he  scattered  his  money  among 
the  people. 

Yes,  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  was  the  King's  dangerous  rival.  The  crown 
was  not  secure  upon  his  head  so  long  as  the  Howards  lived.  And  who 
could  conjecture  whether  in  time  to  come,  when  Henry  closed  his  eyes, 
the  exultant  love  of  the  people  might  not  call  to  the  throne  the  Duke 
of  Norfolk,  or  his  noble  son,  the  Earl  of  Surrey,  instead  of  the  rightful 
heir — instead  of  the  little  boy  Edward,  Henry's  only  son? 

When  the  King  thought  of  that,  he  had  a  feeling  as  though  a  stream 
of  fire  were  whirling  up  to  his  brain  ;  and  he  convulsively  clenched  his 
hands,  and  screamed  and  roared  that  he  would  take  vengeance — ven- 
geance on  those  hated  Howards,  who  wanted  to  snatch  the  crown  from 
his  son. 

Edward,  the  little  boy  of  tender  age — he  alone  was  the  divinely  con- 
secrated, legitimate  heir  to  the  King's  crown.  It  had  cost  his  father  so 
great  a  sacrifice  to  give  his  people  this  son  and  successor !  In  order  to 
do  it,  he  had  sacrificed  Jane  Seymour,  his  own  beloved  wife;  he  had 
let  the  mother  be  put  to  death,  in  order  to  preserve  the  son,  the  heir  of 
his  crown. 

And  the  people  did  not  once  thank  the  King  for  this  sacrifice  that  Jane 
Seymour's  husband  had  made  for  them.  The  people  received  with 
shouts  the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  the  father  oi  that  adulterous  Queen  whom 
Henry  loved  so  much,  that  her  infidelity  had  struck  him  like  the  stab  of 
a  poisoned  dagger. 

These  were  the  thoughts  that  occupied  the  King  on  his  bed  of  pain, 
and  upon  which  he  dwelt  with  all  the  wilfulness  and  moodiness  of  a  sick 
man. 

*Bnrn*t,  vol  1,  ?hge  98. 


•  M 

We  shall  have  to  sacrifice  these  Howards  to  him !  said  Earl  Douglas 
to  Gardiner,  as  they  had  just  again  listened  to  a  burst  of  rage  from  their 
royal  master.  If  we  would  at  last  succeed  in  ruining  the  Queen,  w« 
must  first  destroy  the  Howards. 

The  pious  Bishop  looked  at  him  inquiringly  and  in  astonishment.        ♦ 

Earl  Douglas  smiled.  Your  Highness  is  loo  exalted  and  noble  to  be 
always  able  to  comprehend  the  things  of  this  world.  Your  look,  which 
seeks  only  God  and  heaven,  does  not  always  see  the  petty  and  pitiful 
things  that  happen  here  on  the  earth  below. 

Oh  but,  said  Gardiner  with  a  cruel  smile,  I  see  them,  and  it  charms 
my  eye  when  1  see  how  God's  vengeance  punishes  the  enemies  of  the 
Church  here  on  earth.  Set  up  then,  by  all  means,  a  stake  or  a  scuffold 
tor  these  Howards,  if  their  death  can  be  to  us  a  means  to  our  pious  and 
godly  end.  You  are  certain  of  my  blessing  and>my  assistance.  Only  I 
do  not  quite  comprehend  how  the  Howards  can  stand  in  the  way  of  our 
plots  which  are  formed  against  the  Queen,  inasmuch  as  they  are  numbered 
among  the  Queen's  enemies,  and  profess  themselves  of  the  Church,  in 
which  alone  is  salvation. 

The  Earl  of  Surrey  is  an  apostate  who  has  opened  his  ear  and  heart 
to  the  doctrine  of  Calvin  !  , 

Then  Jet  his  head  fall,  for  he  is  a  criminal  before  God,  and  no  one 
ought  to  have  compassion  on  him  !  And  what  is  there  that  we  lay  to 
the  charge  of  the  father  ? 

The  Duke  of  Norfolk  is  well  nigh  yet  more  dangerous  than  his  son  ; 
for  although  a  catholic,  he  has  not  nevertheless  the  right  faith ;  and  his 
soul  is  fulJ  of  unholy  sympathy  and  injurious  mildness.  He  bewails 
those  whose  blood  is  shed  because  they  are  devoted  to  the  false  doctrine 
of  the  priests  of  Baal ;   and  he  calls  us  both  the  King's  bloodhounds. 

Well  then,  cried  Gardiner  with  an  uneasy  dismal  smile,  we  will  show 
him  that  he  has  called  us  by  the  right  name  ;  we  will  rend  him  in  pieces  ! 

Besides,  as  we  have  said,  the  Howards  stand  in  the  way  of  our  schemes 
in  relation  to  the  Queen,  said  Earl  Douglas  earnestly.  The  King's  mind 
is  so  completely  filled  with  this  one  hatred  and  this  one  jealousy,  that 
there  is  no  room  iu  it  for  any  other  feeling,  for  any  other  hate:  It  is  true 
he  signs  often  enough  these  death-warrants  which  we  lay  before  him  ;  but 
he  does  it,  as  the  lion,  with  utter  carelessness  and  without  auger,  crushes 
the  littlawnouse  that  is  by  chance  under  his  paws.  But  if  the  lion  is  to 
rend  in  pieces  his  equal,  he  must  beforehand  be  put  into  a  rage.  When 
he  is  raging,  then  you  must  let  him  have  his  prey.  The  Howards  shall 
be  his  first  prey.  But,  then,  we  must  exert  ourselves,  that  when  the  lion 
again  shakes  his  mane,  his  wrath  may  fall  upon  Catharine  Parr  and  the 
Seymours. 

The  Lord  our  God  will  be  with  us,  and  enlighten  us,  that  we  may 
find  the  right  means  to  strike  his  enemies  a  sure  blow  !  exclaimed  Gar- 
diner, devoutly  folding  his  hands. 

1  believe  the  right  means  are  already  found,  said  Earl  Douglas  with  a 
smile ;  and  even  before  this  day  descends  to  its  close,  the  gates  of  the 


61 

Tower  will  open  to  receive  this  haughty  and  soft  hearted  Duke  of  Nor- 
folk, and  this  apostate  Earl  Surrey.  Perchance,  we  may  even  succeed 
vin  striking  at  one  blow  the  Queen  together  with  the  Howards.  See  ! 
an  equipage  stops  before  the  grand  entrance,  and  1  see  the  Duchess  of 
Norfolk  and  her  daughter,  the  Duchess  of  Richmond,  getting  outof  the 
carriage.  Only  see!  they  aie  making  signs  to  us.  I  have  promised  to 
conduct  these  two  noble  and  pious  lauies  to  the  King  ;  and  I  shall  do  so. 
Whilst  we  are  there,  pray  for  us,  your  Highness,  that  our  words,  like 
well  aimed  arrows,  may  strike  the  King's  heart,  and  then  rebound  upon 
the  Queen  and  the  Seymour?  ! 


CHAPTER  Vilf. 

THE    ACCUSATION. 

In  vain  had  the  King  hoped  to  master  his  pains,  or  at  least  to  forget 
them,  while  he  tried  to  sleep.  Sleep  had  fled  from  the  King's  couch  •, 
and  as  he  now  sat  in  his  rolling-chair,  sad,  weary  and  harrassed  with  pain, 
he  thought  w'th  gloomy  spite,  that  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  told  him  but 
yesterday  that  sleep  was  a  thing  under  his  control,  and  he  coulri  sum. 
mon  it  to  him  whenever  it  seemed  good  to  him. 

This  thought  made  him  raving  with  anger ;  and  grinding  his  teeth  he 
muttered  :  He  c;m  sleep  ;  and  1,  his  lord  and  King — I  am  a  poor  beggar 
that  in  vain  whines  to  God  above  for  a  little  sleep,  a  little  forgetfulness 
of  his  pains!  But  it  is  this  traitorous  Norfolk  that  pi  events  me  from 
sleeping.  Thoughts  of  him  keep  me  awake  and  restless.  And  I  cannot 
crush  this'traitor  with  these  hands  of  mine;  I  am  a  King,  and  yet  so 
powerless  and  weak,  that  1  can  find  no  means  of  accusing  this  traitor, 
and  convicting  him  of  bis  sinful  arid  blasphemous  deeds.  Oh,  where  may 
I  find  him — that  true  friend,  that  devoted  servant,  who  ventures  to  un- 
derstand my  unuttered  thoughts,  and  fulfill  the  wishes  to  which  1  dare 
not  give  a  name. 

Just  as  he  was  thus  thinking,  the  door  behind  him  openpd  and  in 
walked  Earl  Douglas.  His  countenance  was  proud  and  triumphant, 
and  so  wild  a  joy  gleamed  from  his  eyes  that  even  the  King  was  sur- 
prised at  it. 

Oh,  said  he  peevishly,  you  call  yourself  my  friend;  and  you  are 
cheerful,  Douglas,  while  your  King  is  a  poor  prisoner,  whom  the  gout 
has  chained  with  bra/en  bands  to  this  chair? 

You  will  recover,  my  King;  and  go  forth  from  this  imprisonment,  as 
the  conqueror,  dazzling  and  bright,  that  by  his  appearance  under  God's 


62 

blessing  treads  all  his  enemies  in  the  Just — that  triumphs  over  all  those 
who  are  against  him,  and  -would  betray  their  King ! 

Are  there  then  any  such  traitors,  who  threaten  their  King?  asked 
Henry  with  a  dark  frown. 

Aye,  there  are  such  traitors  ! 

Name  them  to  me  !  said  the  King,  trembling  with  passionate  impa- 
tience. Name  them  to  me,  that  my  arm  may  crush  them  and  my 
avenging  justice  overtake  the  heads  of  the  guilty. 

It  is  superfluous  to  mention  them,  for  you,  King  Henry,  the  wise 
and  all-knowing — you  know  their  names. 

And  bending  down  closer  to  the  King's  ear,  Earl  Douglas  continued : 
King  Henry,  I  certainly  have  a  right  to  call  myself  your  my  most  faithful 
and  devoted  servant,  for  1  have  read  your  thoughts.  I  have  understood 
the  noble  grief  that  disturbs  your  heart,  and  banishes  sleep  from  your 
eyes  and  peace  from  your  soul.  You  saw  the  foe  that  was  creeping  in  the 
dark  ;  you  heard  the  low  hiss  of  the  serpent  that  was  darting  his  vene- 
mous  sting  at  your  heel.  But  you  were  so  much  the  noble  and  intrepid 
King,  that  you  would  not  yourself  become  the  accuser — nay,  you  would 
not  once  draw  back  the  foot  menaced  by  the  serpent.  Great  and  mer- 
ciful, like  God  himself,  you  smiled  upon  him  whom  \ou  knew  to  be 
your  enemy.  But  1,  my  King — I  have  other  duties.  I  am  like  the 
faithful  dog,  that  has  eyes  only  for  the  safety  of  his  master,  and  falls 
upon  every  one  that  comes  to  menace  him.  I  have  seen  the  serpent 
that  would  kill  you,  and  I  will  bruise  his  head"! 

And  what  is  the  name  of  this  serpent  of  which  you  s'peak  ?  asked 
the  King  ;  and  his  heart  beat  so  boisterously  that  he  felt  it  on  his  trem- 
bling lips. 

It  is  called,  said  Earl  Douglas  earnestly  and  solemnly — it  is  called 
Howard  ! 

The  King  uttered  a  cry,  and,  forgetting  his  gout  and  his  pains,  arose 
from  his  chair. 

Howard  ?  said  he  with  a  cruel  smile.  Say  you  that  a  Howard 
.  threatens  our  life1?     Which  one  is  it?     Name  me  the  traitor  * 

I  name  them  both — father  and  son  !  I  name  the  Duke  of  Norfolk 
and  the  Earl  of  Surrey  !  I  say  that  they  both  are  traitors,  who  threat- 
en the  life  and  honor  of  my  King,  and  with  blasphemous  arrogance  dare 
stretch  out  their  hands  even  to  the  crown ! 

Ah,  I  knew  it,  I  knew  it!  screamed  the  King.  And  it  was  this  that 
made  me  sleepless,  and  ate  into  my  body  like  red  hot  iron. 

And  as  he  fastened  on  Douglas  his  eyes  flashing  with  rage,  he  asked 
with  a  grim  smile  :  Can  you  prove  that  these  Howards  are  traitors  ? 
Can  you  prove  that  they  aim  at  my  crown  ? 

I  hope  to  be  able  to  do  so,  said  Douglas.  To  be  sure  there  are  no 
great  convincing  facts 

Oh,  said  the  King  interrupting  him  with  a  savage  laugh,  there  is  no 
need  of  great  facts.     Give  into  my  hand  but  a  little  thread  j  and  I  will 


*  (53 

make  out  of  it,  a  cord  that  shall  be  strong  enough  to  haul  the  father  and 
son  up  to  the  gallows  at  one  time. 

Oh,  for  the  son  there  is  proof  enough,   said   the    Earl  with  a  ^rnile- 
and  as  regards  the  father,  I  will    produce   your   Majesty  some   accusers' 
against  him,  who  will  be   important,  eno'ngh#to    bring  the  Duke  also  to 
the  block.     Will  you  allow  me  to  bring  them  to  you  immediately  ] 

Yes,  bring  them,  bring  them!  cried  the  King.  Every  minute  is  pre 
cious  that  may  lead  these  traitors  sooner  to  their  punishment. 

Earl  Douglas  stepped  to  the  door  and  opened  it.  Three  veiled  fe- 
male figures  entered  and  bowed  reverentially. 

Ah,  whispered  the  King  with  a  cruel  smila,  as  he  sunk  back  again 
into  his  chair,  they  are  the  three  Fates' that  spin  the  Howards'  thread  or* 
life,  and  will  now,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  break  it  off.  I  will  furnish  them 
with  the  scissors  for  it ;  and  if  they  are  not  sharp  enough,  1  will,  with 
my  own  royal  hands,  help  them  to  break  the  thread. 
•  Sire,  said  Earl  Douglas,  as  at  a  sign  from  him  the  three  women  un- 
veiled themselves,  Sire,  the  wife,  the  daughter  and  the  mistress  of  the 
Duke  of  Norfolk  have  come  to  accuse  him  of  high  treason.  .The  mother 
and  the  sister  of  the  Earl  of  Surrey  are  here  to  charge  him  with  a  crime* 
equally  worthy  of  death. 

Now  verily,  exclaimed  the  King,  it  must  be  a  grievous  and  blasphemous 
sin,  which  so  much  exasperates  the  temper  of  these  noble  women,  and 
makes  them  deaf  to  the  voice  of  nature. 

It  is  indeed  such  a  sin,  said  the  Duchess  of  Norfolk  in  a  solemn  tone ; 
and  approaching  a  few  paces  nearer  to  the  King,  she  continued  :  Sire,  I 
accuse  the  Duke,  my  divorced  husband,  of  high  treason  and  disloyalty 
to  his  King.  He  has  been  so  bold  as  to  appropriate  your  own  royal 
coat  of  arms;  and  on  his  seal  and  equipage,  and  over  the  entrance  of 
his  palace,  is  displayed  the  arms  of  the  Kings  of  England. 

That  is  true  !  said  the  King,  who,  now  that,  he  was  certain  of  the  de 
struction  of  the  Howards,  had  regained  his  calmness  and  self-possession, 
and  perfectly  re  assumed  the  air  of  a  strict,  impartial  judge.  Yes,  he 
bears  the  royal  arms  on  his  shield,  but  yet  if  we  remember  rightly,  the 
crown  and  paraph  of  our  ancestor  Edward  the  Third  are  warning. 

He  has  now  added  this  crown  and  this  paraph  to  his  coat  of  amis, 
mid  Miss  Holland.  He  says  he  is  entitled  to  them;  for  that,  like  the 
King,  he  also  is  descended  in  direct  line  from  Edward  the  Third  ;  and, 
therefore,  the  royal  arms  belong  likewise  to  him. 

If  he  says  that,  he  is  a  traitor  who  presumes  to  call  his  king  and  mas- 
ter his  equal,  cried  the  King,  coloring  up  with  a  grim  joy  at  now  at 
length  having  his  enemy  in  his  power. 

lb-  is  indeed  a  traitor,  continued  Miss  Holland.  Often  have  I  heard 
him  say,  he  had  the  same  right  to  the  throne  of  England  as  Henry  the 
Eighth  ;  and  that  a  day  might  come  when  he  would  contend  with  U>  n- 
ry's  s<  n  for  that  crown.  fc 

Ah!  cried  the  King,  and  his  eyes  darted  dishes  so  fierce  that  even 
Earl  Douglas  shrank  before  them,  ah,  he  will  contend  with  my  son  for 


04 

the  Crown  of  England  !  It  is  well  now;  for  now  it  is  my  sacred  duty, 
as  a  King  and  as  a  father,  to  crush  this  serpent  that  wants  to  bite  me  oil 
the  heel ;  and  no  compassion  and  no  pity  ought  now  to  restrain  me  lon- 
ger. And  were  there  no  other  proofs  of  his  guilt  and  his  crime,  than  these 
words  that  he  has  spoken  to  you,  yet  are  they  sufficient,  and  will  rise  up 
against  him,  like  the  hangman's  aids  who  are  to  conduct  him  to  the 
block. 

But  thftre  are  yet  other  proofs,  said  Miss  Holland  laconically. 

The  King  was  obliged  to  unbutton  his  doublet.  Ii  seemed  as  though 
joy  would  suffocate  him. 

Name  them  !  commanded  he. 

He  dares  deny  the  King's  supremacy  ;  he  calls  the  Bishop  of  Rome 
the  sole  Head  and  Holy  Father  of  the  Church. 

Ah,  does  he  so?  exclaimed  the  King  laughing.  Well,  we  shall  see 
now,  whether  this  Holy  Father  will  save  this  faithful  son  from  the  scaf- 
fold which  we  will  erect  fur  him.  Yes,  yes,  we  must  give  the  world  a. 
new  example  of  our  incorruptible  justice,  which  overtakes  every  one, 
however  high  and  mighty  he  may  be,  and  however  near  our  throne  he 
*may  stand.  Really,  really,  it  grieves  our  heart  to' lay  low  this  oak. 
which  we  had  planted  so  near  our  throne,  that  we  might  lean  upon  it 
and  support  ourselves  by  it;  but  justice  demands  this  sacrifice,  and  we 
will  make  it — not  in  wrath  and  spite,  but  only  to  meet  the  sacred  and 
painful  duty  of  our  royalty.  We  have  greatly  loved  this  Duke,  and  it 
grieves  us  to  tear  this  love  from  our  heart. 

And  with  his  hand,  glittering  with  jewels,  the  King  wiped  from  his 
eyes  the  tears  which  were  not  there. 

But  how?  asked  the  King  then  after  a  pause,  will  you  have  the 
courage  to  repeat  your  accusation  publicly  before  Parliament  ?  Will 
you,  his  wife,  and  you,  his  mistress,  publicly  swear  with  a  sacred  oath 
to  the  truth  of  your  declaration? 

I  will  do  so,  said  the  Duchess  solemnly  ;  for  he  is  no  longer  my  hus- 
band ;  no  longer  the  father  of  my  children,  but  simply  the  enemy  of  my 
King  ;  and  to  serve  him  is  my  most  sacred  duty. 

I  will  do  so,  cried  Miss  Holland  with  a  bewitching  smile;  for  he  is  no 
longer  my  lover,  but  only  a  traitor,  an  atheist,  who  is  audacious  enough 
to  recognize  as  the  Holy  Head  of  Christendom  that  man  at  Rome,  who 
has  dared  hurl  his  curse  against  the  sublime  head  of  our  King.  It  is  this 
indeed,  that  ha,s  torn  my  heart  from  the  Duke,  and  that  has  made  me 
now  hate  him  as  ardently  as  I  once  loved  him. 

With  a  gracious  smile",  the  King  presented  both  his  hands  to  ther  two 
women.  You  have  done  me  a  great  service  to  day,  my  ladies,  said  he,  and 
I  will  find  a  way  to  reward  you  for  it.  1  will  give  you,  Duchess,  the 
half  of  his  estate,  as  though  you  were  his  rightful  heir  and  lawful  widow. 
And  you,  Miss  Holland,  I  will  leave  in  undisputed  possession  of  all  the 
goods  and  treasures  that  the  enamoured  Duke  has  given  you. 

The  two  ladies  broke  out  into  loud  expressions  of  thanks,  and  into  en- 
thusiastic rapture  over  the  liberal  and  generous  King,  who  was  so  gia- 


05 

cious  as  to  give  them  what  they  already  had,  and  to  bestow  on  them 
what  was  already  their  own  property. 

Well,  and  are  you  wholly  mute,  my  little  Duchess?  asked  the  King 
after  a  pause,  turning  to  the  Duchess  of  Richmond,  who  had  withdrawn 
to  the  embrasure  of  a  window. 

Sire,  said  the  Duchess  smiling,  I  was  only  waiting  for  my  cue. 

And  this  cue  is?  - 

Henry  Howard,  Earl  of  Surrey  !  As  your  Majesty  knows,  I  am  a 
merry  and  harmless  woman  ;  and  1  understand  better  how  to  laugh  and 
joke,  than  to  talk  much  seriously.  The  two  noble  and  fair  ladies  have 
accused  the  Duke,  my  father  ;  and  they  have  done  so  in  a  very  dignified 
aiid  solemn  manner.  1  wish  to  accuse  my  brother,  Henry  Howard  ; 
but  you  must  exercise  forbearance,  if  my  words  sound  less  solemn  and 
elevated.  They  have  told  you,  Sire,  that  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  is  a 
traitor  and  a  criminal,  who  denominates  the  Pope  of  Rome,  and  not 
you,  riiy  exalted  King,  the  Head  of  the  Church.  Now,  the  Earl  of  Sur- 
rey is  neither  a  traitor  nor  a  papist ;  and  he  has  neither  devised  criminal 
plots  against  the  throne  of  England  ;  nor  has  he  denied  the  supremacy 
of  the  King.     No,  Sire,  the  Earl  of  Surrey  is  no  traitor,  and  no  papist ! 

The  Duchess  paused,  and  looked  with  a  malicious  and  droll  smile  in- 
to the  astonished  faces  of  those  present. 

A  dark  frown  gathered  on  the  King's  brow,  and  his  eyes,  which  just 
before  had  looked  so  cheerful,  were  now  fixed  with  an  angry  expression 
on  the  young  Duchess. 

Why  then,  my  Lady,  have  you  made  your  appearance  here  ?  asked 
he.  Why  have  you  come  here,  if  you  have  nothing  farther  to  say  than 
what  I  already  know — that  the  Earl  of  Surrey  is  a  very  loyal  subject,  and 
a  man  without  any  ambition,  who  neither  courts  the  favor  of  my  people, 
nor  thinks  of  laying  his  traitorous  hands  on  my  crown? 

The  young  Duchess  shook  her  head  with  a  smile.  1  know  not  wheth- 
er he  does  all  that,  said  she.  1  have  indeed  heard,  that  he  said  with  bit- 
ter scorn,  that  you,, my  King,  wanted  to  be  the  protector  of  religion,  yet 
you  yourself  were  entirely  without  religion  and  without  belief.  Also, 
he  of  late  broke  out  into  bitter  curses  against  you,  because  you  had  rob- 
bed him  of  his  field-marshal's  staff,  and  given  it  to  Earl  Hertford,  that 
noble  Seymour.  Also,  he  meant  to  see  whether  the  throne  of  England 
was  so  firm  and  steady  that  it  had  no  need  of  his  hand  and  his  arm  to 
prop  it.  All  that,  1  have  of  course  heard  from  him  ;  but  you  are  right, 
Sire  ;  it  is  unimportant — it  is  not  worth  mentioning,  and,  therefore,  I  do 
not  even  mal<e  it  as  an  accusation  against  him. 

Ah,  you  are  always  a  mad  little  witch,  Arabella !  cried  the  King,  who 
had  again  regained  his  cheerfulness.  You  say  you  will  not  accuse  him, 
and  yet  you  make  his  head  a  plaything  that  you  poise  upon  your  crim- 
son lips.  Cut,  take  care,  my  little  Puchess — take  care,  that  this  head 
does  not  fall  from  your  lips  with  your  laughing  and  roll  down  to  the 
ground;  for  I  will  not  stop  it — this  head  of  the  Earl  of  Surrey,  of  whom 
you  jay  that  he  is  no  traitor. 


6(5 

Bat  is  it  not  monotonous  and  tiresome,  if  we  accuse  the  father  and  son 
of  the  same  crime?  asked  the  Duchess  laughing.  Let  us  have  a  little 
variation  !  Let  the  Duke  be  a  traitor;  the  son,  my  King,  is  by  far  a 
still  wOrse"  criminal !  • 

Is  there  then  a  still  worse  and  more  execrable  crime  than  to  be  a 
traitor  to  his  King  and  master,  and  to  speak  of  the  Anointed  of  the  Lord 
without  reverence  and  love?  • 

Yes,  your  Majesty,  there  is  a  still  worse  crime ;  and  of  that  I  accuse 
the  Earl  of  Surrey.     He  is  an  adulterer ! 

An  adulterer?  repeated  the  King  with  an  expression  of  abhorrence. 
Yes,  my  Lady,  you  are  right;  that  is  a  more  execrable  and  unnatural 
crime,  and  we  shall  judge  it  strictly.  For  it  shall  not  be  said  that  mo- 
desty and  virtue  found  no  protector  in  the  King  of  this  land,  and  that 
he  will  not  as  a  judge  punish  and  crush  all  those  who  dare  sin  against 
decency  and  morals.     Oh,  the  Earl  of  Surrey  is  an  adulterer,  is  he? 

That  is  to  say,  Sire,  he  dares  with  his  sinful  love  to  pursue  a  virtu- 
ous and  chaste  wife.  He  dares  to  raise  his  wicked  looks  to  a  woman 
who  stands  as  high  above  him  as  the  sun  above  mortals,  and  who,  at 
least,  by  the  greatness  and  high  position  of  her  husband,  should  be  se- 
cure from  all  impure  desires  and  lustful  wishes. 

Ah,  cried  the  King  indignantly,  I  see  already  whither  that  tends.  It 
is  always  the  same  accusation  ;  and  now  I  say,  as  you  did  just  now,  let 
us  have  a  little  variation  !  The  accusation,  I  have  already  often  heard  ; 
but  the  proofs  are  always  wanting. 

Sire,  this  time,  it  may  be,  we  can  give  the  proofs,  said  the  Duch- 
ess earnestly.  Would  you  know,  my  noble  King,  who  the  Geraldine  is 
to  whom  Henry  Howard  addresses  his  love  songs  ?  Shall  I  tell  you 
the  real  name  of  this  woman  to  whom,  in  the  presence  of  your  sacred 
person  and  of  your  whole  Court,  he  uttered  his  passionate  protestations 
of  love  and  his  oaths  of  eternal  faithfulness  ?  Well  uow,  this  Geraldine, 
so  adored,  so  deified — is  the  Queen ! 

That  is  not  true  !  cried  the  King,  crimson  with  anger ;  and  he  clenched 
his  hands  so  firmly  about  the  arms  of  his  chair  that  it  cracked.  That 
is  not  true,  my  Lady  ! 

It  is  true  !  said  the  Duchess  haughtily  and  saucily.  It  is  true,  Sire ; 
for  the  Earl  of  Surrey  has  confessed  to  me  myself  that  it  is  the  Queen 
whom  he  loves,  and  that  Geraldine  is  only  a  melodious  appellation  for 
Catharine. 

He  has  confessed  it  to  you  yourself?  inquired  the  King,  with  gaspiDg 
breath.     Ah,  he  dares  love  his  King's  wife  ?     Woe  to  him,  woe  ! 

He  raised  his  clenched  fist  threateningly  to  heaven,  and  his  eyes  dart- 
ed lightning.  But  how?  said  he  after  a  pause;  has  he  not  recently  read 
before  us  a  poem  to  his  Geraldine,  in  which  he  thanks  her  for  her  love, 
and  acknowledges  himself  eternally  her  debtor  for  the  kiss  she  gave 
him  ? 

He  has  read  before  your  Majesty  such  a  poem  to  Geraldine  ! 

The  King  uttered  a  low  cry,  and  raised  himself  in  his  seat.     Proof?, 


67 

said  he  in  a  hoarse,  hollow  voice — proofs — or,  I  tell  you,  your  own  head 
shall  atone  for  this  accusation  ! 

This  proof,  your  Majesty,  I  will  give  you  !  said  Earl  Douglas  sol- 
emnly. It  pleases  your  Majesty,  in  the  fulness  bf  your  gentleness  and 
mercy,  to  want  to  doubt  the  accusation  of  the  noble  Duchess.  Well 
now,  1  will  furnish  you  infallible  proof  that  Henry  Howard,  Earl  of 
Surrey,  really  loves  the  Queen,  and  that  he  really  dares  to  extol  and 
adore  the-  King's  wife  as  his  Geraldine.  You  shall  with  your  own  ears, 
Sire,  hear  ho\v  Earl  Surrey  swears  his  love  to  the  Queen. 

The  scream  which  the  King  now  uttered  was  so  frightful,  and  gave 
evidence  of  so  much  inward  agony  and  rage,  that  it  struck  the  Earl  dumb, 
and  made  the  cheeks  of  the  ladies  turn  pale. 

Douglas,  Douglas,  beware  how  you  rouse  the  lion  \  gasped  the  King. 
The  lion  might  rend  you  yourself  in  pieces  ! 

This  very  night,  1  will  give  you  the  proof  that  you  demand,  Sire.  This 
very  night,  you  shall  hear  how  Earl  Surrey,  sitting  at  the  feet  of  his 
Geraldine,  swears  to  her  his  love. 

It  is  well !  said  the  King.  This  night  then  !  Woe  to  you,  Douglas, 
if  you  cannot  redeem  your  word! 

1  will  do  so,  your  Majesty  !  For  this,  it  is  only  necessary  that  yo\j 
will  be  graciously  pleased  to  swear  to  me  that  you  will  not,  by  a  sigh, 
or  a  breath,  betray  yourself.  The  Earl  is  suspicious  ;  and  the  fear  of  an 
evil  conscience  has  sharpened  his  ear.  He  would  recognize  you  by  your 
sigh  ;  and  his  lips  would  not  speak  those  words  and  avowals  which  you 
desire  to  hear. 

I  swear  to  you,  that  I  will  not,  by  any  sigh  or  breath,  betray  my  pre- 
sence !  said  the  King  solemnly.  1  swear,  this  to  you  by  the  Holy  Moth- 
er of  God  !  But  now  let  that  suffice.  Air — air — I  suffocate  !  Every- 
thing swims  before  my  eyes.  Open  the  window,  that  a  little  air  may 
flow  in  !  Ah,  that  is  good  !  This  air  at  least  is  pure,  and  not  infected 
with  sin  and  slander ! 

And  the  King  had  Earl  Douglas  roll  him  to  the  opened  window,  and 
inspired  in  long  draughts  that  pure  fresh  air.  Then  he  turned  to  the 
ladies  with  an  agreeable  smile. 

My  Ladies,  said  he.  I  thank  you  !  You  have  to  day  shown  yourselves 
my  true  and  devoted  friends  !  1  shall  ever  remember  it,  and  I  beg  you, 
if  at  any  time  you  need  a  friend  and  protector,  to  apply  to  me  with  all 
confidence.  We  shall  never  forget  what  great  service  you  have  to  day 
rendered  us.  . 

He  nodded  to  them  in  a  friendly  manner,  whilst,  with  a  majestic  wave 
of  the  hand,  he  dismissed  them,  and  concluded  the  audience. 

And  now,  Douglas,  exclaimed  the  King  vehemently,  as  soon  as  the 
ladies  had  retired — now  1  have  had  enough  of  this  dreadful  torture !  Oh, 
you  say  I  am  to  punish  the  traitors — these  Surreys — and  you  inflict  on 
me  the  most  frightful  pains  of  the  rack  ! 

Sire,  there  was  no  other  meiin  of  delivering  up  this  Surrey  to  you. 


68 

You  were  wishing  that  he  were  a  criminal;  and  1  shall  prove  to  you 
that  he  is  so. 

Oh,  I  shall  then  be  able  at  least  to  tread  his  hated  head  under  my 
feet!  said*the  King  grinding  his  teeth.  1  shall  no  more  tremble  before 
this  malicious  enemy,  who  goes  about  among  my  people  with  his  hypo- 
critical tongue,  while  I,  tortured  with  pain,  sit  in  the  dungeon  of  my  sick- 
room. Yes,  yes,  I  thank  you,  Douglas,  that  you  will  hand  him  over  to 
my  arm  of  vengeance;  and  my  soul  is  full  of  joy  and  serenity  at  it. 
Ah,  why  were  you  obliged  to  cloud  this  fair,  this  sublime  hour?  Why 
was  it  necessary  to  weave  the  Quetn  into  this  gloomy  web  of  guilt 
aud  crime'?  Her  cheerful  smile  and  her  radiant  looks  have  ever  been 
an  enjoyment  so  dear  to  my  eyes. 

Sire,  1  do  not  by  any  means  say,  that  the  Queen  is  guilty.  Only 
there  was  no  other  means  to  prove  to  you  Earl  Surrey's  guilt,  than  that 
you  should  hear  for  yourself  his  confession  of  love  to  the  Queen. 

And  I  will  hear  it !  cried  the  King,  who  had  now  already  overcome 
the  sentimental  emotion  of  his  heart.  Yes,  1  will  have  full  conviction 
of  Surrey's  guilt;  and  woe  to  the  Queen,  should  I  find  her  also  guilty  ! 
This  night  then,  Earl !  But  till  then,  silence  and  secresy  !  We  will 
fcave  father  and  son  seized  and  imprisoned  at  the  same  hour;  for  other- 
wise the  imprisonment  of  the  one  might  easily  serve  as  a  warning  to 
the  other,  and  he  might  escape  my  just  wrath.  Ah,  they  are  so  sly — 
these  Howards — and  their  hearts  are  so  full  of  cunning  and  malice  !  But 
now  ihey  shall  escape  me  no  more;  now  they  are  ours  !  How  it  does 
me  good  to  think  that!  And  how  briskly  and  lightly  my  heart  leaps  ! 
It  is  as  though  a  stream  of  new  life  were  rushing  through  my  veins,  and 
a  new  power  were  infused  into  my  blood.  Oh,  it  was  these  Howards 
that  made  me  sick.  I  shall  be  well  again  when  I  know  that  they  are 
in  the  Tower.  Yes,  yes,  my  heart  leaps  with  joy,  and  this  is  to.  be  a 
happy  and  blessed- day.  Call  the  Queen  hither  to  me,  that  I  may  once 
more  enjoy  her  rosy  face  before  I  make  it  turn  pale  with  terror.  Yes, 
let  the  Queen  come,  and  let  her  adorn  herself;  I  want  to  see  her  once 
more  in  the  full  splendor  of  her  youth  and  her  royalty,  before  her  star 
goes  out  in  daikness.  1  will  once  more  delight  myself  with  her  before 
1  make  her  weep.  Ah,  know  you,  Douglas,  that  there  is  no  enjoyment 
keener,  more  devilish,  and  more  heavenly,  than  to  see  such  a  person  who 
smiles  and  suspects  nothing,  while  she  is  already  condemned  ;  who  still 
adorns  her  head  with  roses,  while  the  executioner  is  al/eady  sharpening 
the  axe  that  is. to  lay  that  head  low ;  who  still  has  hopes  of  the  future, 
aud  of  joy  and  happiness,  while  her  hour  of  life  has  already  run  out; 
while  1  have  already  bidden  her  stop  and  descend  into  the  grave.  So, 
call  the  Queen  to  me ;  and  tell  her  that  we  are  in  a  merry  mood  and 
want  to  jest  and  laugh  with  her  !  Call  all  the  ladies  and  lords  of  our 
Court ;  and  have  the  royal  saloons  opened  ;  and  let  them  be  radiant 
with  the  brilliancy  of  the  lights;  and  let  us  have  music— loud,  crashing 
music — for  we  want  at  least  to  make  this  a  merry  day  for  us,  since  it 
seems  as  though  we  should  have  a  sad  and  unhappy  night.    Ye3,  yes. 


(to 

a  merry  day  we  will  have;  and  after  that,  let  come  what  come  may. 
The  saloons  shall  resound  with  laughter  and  joyfulness  ;  and  naught  bub 
rejoicing  anil  fun  shall  bo  heard  in  the  great  royal  saloons.  And  invite 
also  the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  my  noble  cousin,  who  shares  with  me  my 
royal  coat  of  arms.  Yes,  invite  him,  that  1  may  enjoy  once  more  his 
haughty  and  imposing  beauty  and  grandeur  before  this  august  sun  is  ex- 
tinguished and  leaves  us  again  in  night  and  darkness.  Then  invite 
Wriothesley,  the  High  Chancellor,  and  let  him  bring  with  him  a  few- 
gallant  and  brave  soldiers  of  our  bodyguard.     They  are  to  be  the  noble 

Duke's  suite,  when  he  wishes  to  leave  our  feast  and  go   homewards 

homewards — if  not  to  his  palace,  yet  to  the  Tower,  and  to  the  grave. 
Go,  go,  Douglas,  and  attend  to  all  this  for  me !  And  send  me  here  di- 
rectly my  merry  fool,  John  Heywood.  He  must  pass  away  the  time 
for  me  till  the  feast  begins.     He  must  make  me  laugh  and  be  gay. 

I  will  go  and  fulfil  your  orders,  Sire,  said  Earl  Douglas.  I  will  order 
the  fea*t,  and  impart  your  commands  to  the  Queen  and  your  Court. 
And  first  of  all  I  will  send  John  Heywood  to  you.  But  pardon  me, 
your  Majesty,  if  I  venture  to  remind  you,  that  you  have  given  me  your 
royal  word,  not  to  betray  our  secret  by  a  single  syllable,  or  even  by  a 
sigh. 

I  gave  my  word,  and  I  will  keep  it!  said  the  King.  Go  now,  Earl 
Douglas,  and  do  what  1  have  bidden  you  ! 

Wholly  exhausted  by  this  paroxysm  of  cruel  delight,  the  King  sank 
back  in  Iih  seat,  and  moaning  and  groaning  he  rubbed  his  leg,  thepierc- 
iog  painu  of  which  he  had  for  a  moment  forgotten,  but  which  now  re- 
minded him  of  their  presence  with  so  much  the  more  cruel  fury. 

Ah,  ah,  moaned  the  King.  He  boasts  of  being  able  to  sleep  when  he 
pleases.  Well,  this  time  we  will  be  the  one  to  lull  this  haughty  Earl 
to  sleep.  But  it  will  be  a  sleep  out  of  which  he  is  never  to  awake 
again  ! 

While  the  King  thus  wailed  and  suffered,  Earl  Douglas  hastened  with 
quick,  firm  step  through  the  suite  of  royal  apartments.  A  proud  trium- 
phant smile  played  about  his  lips,  and  a  joyful  expression  of  victory 
flashed  from  his  eyes. 

Triumph  !  triumph  !  we  shall  conquer  !  said  he,  as  he  now  entered  his 
daughter's  chamber  and  extended  his  hand  to  Lady  Jane.  Jane,  we  have 
at  last  reached  the  goal;  and  you  will  toon  be  King  Henry's  seventh 
wife  ! 

A  rosy  shimmer  flitted  for  a  moment  over  Lady  Jane's  pale  colorless 
cheeks,  and  a  smile  played  about  her  lips — a  smile,  however,  which  was 
more  sad  than  loud  sobs  could  have  been. 

Ah,  said  she  in  a  Jow  tone,  I  fear  only  that  my  poor  head  will  bo  too 
weak  to  wear  a  royal  crown. 

Courage,  courage,  Jane,  lift  up  your  head,  and  be  again  my  strong, 
proud  daughter  ! 

But  I  suffer  so  much,  my  father,  sighed  she.  It  is  hell,  that  burns 
within  me ! 


70 

But  soon,  Jane,  soon  you  shall  feel  again  the  bliss  of  heaven  !  1  had 
forbidden  you  to  grant  Henry  Howard  a  meeting  because  it  might  bring 
us  danger.  Well  then,  now  your  tender  heart  shall  be  satisfied.  To- 
night you  shall  embrace  your  lover  again  ! 

Oh,  murmured  she,  he  will  again  call  me  his  Geraldine,  and  it  will  not 
be  I,  but  the  Queen,  that  he  kisses  in  my  arms  ! 

Yes,  to-day,  it  will  still  be  so,  Jane;  but  I  swear  to  you  that  to-day 
is  the  last  time,  that  \  ou  are  obliged  to  receive  him  thus. 

The  last  time  that  I  see  him1?  asked  Jane  with  an  expression  of  alarm. 

No,  Jane,  only  the  last  time  that  Henry  Howard  loves  in  you  the 
Queen,  aud  not  you  yourself. 

Oh,  he  will  never  love  me  !  murmured  she  sadly. 

He  will  love  you,  for  you  it  will  be  that  will  save  his  life.  Hasten 
then,  Jane,  ha^te  !  Write  him  quickly  one  of  those  tender  notes  that 
you  indite  with  so  masterly  a  hand.  Invite  him  to  a  meeting  to-night 
at  the  usual  time  and  place. 

Oh,  I  shall  at  last  have  him  again !  whi>pered  Lady  Jane  ;  and  she 
stepped  to  the  writing-table  and  with  trembling  hand  began  to  write- 
But  suddenly  she  stopped  and  looked  at  her  father  sharply  and  suspi- 
ciously. 

You  swear  to  me,  my  father,  that  no  danger  threatens  him,  if  he 
comes  ? 

I  swear  to  you,  Jane,  that  you  shall  be  the  one  to  save  his  life!  I 
swear  to  you,  Jane,  that  you  shall  take  vengeance  on  the  Queen — ven- 
geance for  all  the  agony,  the  humiliation  and  despair  that  you  have  suf- 
fered by  her.  To-day  she  is  yet  Queen  of  England  !  Tomorrow  she 
will  be  nothing  more  than  a  criminal,  who  sighs  in  the  confinement  of 
the  Tower  fur  the  hour  of  her  execution.  And  you  will  be  Henry's  se- 
venth queen  !  Write  then,  my  daughter,  write !  And  may  love  dictate 
to  you  the  proper  words. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  FEAST  OF  DEATH. 


For,  a  long  time,  the  King  had  not  appeared  in  such  good  spirits  as 
on  this  festive  evening.  For  a  long  time,  he  had  not  been  so  complete- 
ly the  tender  husband,  the  good  natured  companion,  the  cheerful  bon 
vivant. 

The  pains  of  his  leg  seemed  to  have  disappeared,  and  even  the  weight 
of  his  body  seemed  to  be  less  burdensome  than  usual,  for  more  than 


7i 

once  he  arose  from  his  chair  and  walked  a  few  steps  through  the  brilliant- 
ly lighted  saloon,  in  which  the  ladies  and  lords  of  his  Court,  in  festive 
attire,  were  moving  gently  to  and  fro;  in  which  music  and  laughter  re- 
sounded. 

How  tender  he  showed  himself  towards  the  Queen  to-day  ;  with  whit 
extraordinary  kindness  he  met  the  Duke  of  Norfolk;  with  what  smiling 
attention  he  listened  to  the  Earl  of  Surrey  as  he,  at  the  King's  desire, 
recited  some  new  sonnets  to  Geraldine! ' 

This  marked  preference  for  the  noble  Howards  enraptured  the  Roman 
Catholic  party  at  Court,  and  filled  it  with  new  hopes  and  new  confidence. 

But  one  there  was,  who  did  not  allow  himself  to  be  deceived  bv  this 
mask,  which  King  Henry  had  to-day  put  on  over  his  wrathful  face." 

John  Hey  wood  had  faith  neither  in  the  King's  cheerfulness,  nor  in  his 
tenderness.  He  knew  the  King;  he  was  aware  that  those  to  whom  he 
was  most  friendly  often  had  the  most  to  fear  from  him.  Therefore,  he 
watched  him  ;  and  he  saw,  beneath  this  mask  of  friendliness,  the  King's 
real  angry  countenance  sometimes  flash  out  in  a  quick,  hasty  look 

The  resounding  music  and  the  mad  rejoicing  no  more  deceived  John 
Ileywood!  He  beheld  death  standing  behind  this  dazzling  life;  he 
smelt  the  reek  of  corruption  concealed  beneath  the  perfume  of  these 
brilliant  flowers. 

John  Ileywood  no  longer  laughed  and  no  longer  chatted.     He  watched. 

For  tho  first  time  in  a  long  while  the  King  did  not  need  to-day  the 
exciting  j  -t  and  the  stinging  wit  of  his  fool  in  order  to  be  cheerful  and 
in  good  humor. 

So  the  fool  Jiad  time  and  leisure  to  be  a  reasonable  and  observant 
man  ;  and  he  improved  the  time. 

He  saw  the  looks  of  mutual  understanding  and  secure  triumph  that 
Earl  Douglas  exchanged  with  Gardiner,  and  it  made  him  mistrustful  to 
notice  that  these  favorites  of  the  King,  at  other  times  so  jealous,  did  not 
seem  to  be  at  all  disturbed  by  the  extraordinary  marks  of  favor,  which 
the  Howards  were  enjoying  this  evening ! 

Once  he  heard  how  Gardiner  asked  Wriothesley  as  he  passed  by : 
"And  the  soldiers  of  the  Tower  V*  and  how  he  replied  just  as  laconically  : 
"  They  stand  near  the  coach  and  wait." 

It  was,  therefore,  perfectly  clear  that  somebody  would  be  committed 
to  prison  this  very  day.  There  was,  therefore,  among  the  laughing, 
richly  attired  and  jesting  guests  of  this  Court,  one,  who  this  very  night, 
when  he  left  these  halls  radiant  with  splendor  and  pleasure,  was  to  be- 
hold the  dark  and  gloomy  chambers  of  the  Tower. 

The  only  question  was,  who  that  one  was  for  whom'the  brilliant  come- 
dy of  this  evening  was  to  be  changed  to  so  sad  a  drama. 

John  Ileywood  felt  his  heart  oppressed  with  an  unaccountable  appre- 
hension ;  and  the  King's  extraordinary  tenderness  towards  the  Queen 
terrified  and  horrified  him. 

As  now  he  smiled  on  Catharino,  as  he  now  stroked  her  check,  so  had 
the  King  smiled  on  Anne  Boleyn  in  the  same  hour  that  he  ordered  her 


arrest ;  so  had  he  stroked  Buckingham's  cheek  on  the  same  day  that  he 
signed  his  death-warrant. 

The  fool  was  horrified  at  this  brilliant,  feast,  resounding  music,  and  the 
mad  merriment  of  the  King.  He  was  horrified  at  the  laughing  faces  and 
frivolous  jests,  which  came  streaming  from  all  those  mirthful  Jips. 

My  God  !  They  laughed  and  death  was  in  the  midst  of  them ;  they 
laughed — and  the  gates  of  the  Tower  were  already  opened  to  admit 
one  of  those  merry  guests  of  the  King  into  that  house,  which  no*  one 
in  those  days  of  Henry  the  Eighth  left  again,  save  to  go  to  the  stake  or 
to  ascend  the  scaffold  ! 

Who  was  the  condemned  ?  For  whom  were  the  soldiers  below  at 
the  carriage  waiting?"  John  Hey  wood  in  vain  racked  his  brain  with 
this  question. 

Nowhere  could  he  spy  a  trace  that  might  lead  him  on  the  right  track  ; 
nowhere  a  clue  that  might  conduct  him  through  this  labyrinth  of  hor- 
rors ! 

When  you  are  afraid  of  the  Devil,  you  do  well  to  put  yourself  under 
his  immediate  protection,  muttered  John  Hey  wood ;  and  sad  and  de- 
spondent at  heart,  he  crept  behind  the  King's  throne  and  crouched  down 
by  it  on  the  ground. 

John  Heywood  had  such  a  little,  diminutive  form,  and  the  King's 
throne  was  so  large  and  broad,  that  it  altogether  concealed  the  little 
crouching  fool. 

No  one  had  noticed  that  John  Heywood  was  concealed  there  behind 
the  King.  Nobody  saw  his  large,  keen  eyes  peeping  out  from  behind 
the  throne  and  surveying  aud  watching  the  whole  hall.     , 

John  Heywood  could  see  everything  and  hear  everything  going  on 
in  the  vicinity  of  the  King.  He  could  observe  every  one  who  ap- 
proached the  Queen. 

He  saw  Lady  Jane  likewise,  who  was  standing  by  the  Queen's  seat. 
He  saw  how  Earl  Douglas  draw  near  his  daughter,  and  how  she  turned 
deadly  pale  as  he  stepped  up  to  her. 

John  Heywood  held  his  breath  and  listened. 

Earl  Douglas  stood  near  his  daughter,  and  nodded  to  her  with  a  pe- 
culiar smile.  Go,  now,  Jane,  go  and  change  your  drese.  It  is  time. 
Only  see  how  impatiently  and  longingly  Henry  Howard  is  already  look- 
ing this  way,  and  with  what  languishing  and  enamored  glances  he  seems 
to  give  a  hint  to  the  Queen.  Go  then,  Jane  ;  and  think  of  your  pro- 
mise. 

And  will  you,  my  iather,  also  think  of  your  promise1?  inquired  Lady 
Jane  with  trembling  lips.     Will  no  danger  threaten  him  ? 

t  will,  Jane  !  But  now  make  haste,  my  daughter,  and  be  prudent  and 
adroit. 

Lady  Jane  bowed,  and  murmured  a  few  unintelligible  words.  Then 
she  approached  the  Queen  and  begged  permission  to  retire  from  the 
feast ;  because  a  severe  indisposition  had  suddenly  overtaken  her. 

Lady  Jane's  countenance  was  so  pale  and  death-like,  that  the  Queen 


73 

might  well  believe  in  the  indisposition  of  her  first  Maid  of  Honor  ;  and 
she  allowed  her  to  retire. 

Lady  June  left  the  hall.  The  Queen  continued  her  conversation  with 
Lord  Hertford,  who  was  standing  by  her. 

It  was  a,  very  lively  and  warm  conversation,  and  the  Queen  therefore 
did  not  heed  what  was  passing  around  her;  and  she  heard  nothing  of  the 
conversation  between  the  King  and  Earl  Douglas. 

John  Hcywood,  still  crouching  behind  the  King's  throne,  observed 
everything  and  heard  every  word  of  this  softly  whispered  conversation. 

Sire,  said  Earl  Douglas,  it  is  late  and  the  hour  of  midnight  is  draw- 
ing niyh.  Will  your  Majesty  be  pleased  to  conclude  the  feast  ?  For 
you  well  know  that  at  midnight  we  must  be  over  there  in  the  green 
summer  house,  and  it  is  a  long  way  there. 

Yes,  yes,  at  midnight!  muttered  the  King.  At  midnight  the  carnival 
is  at  an  end  ;  and  we  shall  tear  off  our  mask,  and  show  our  wrathful 
countenance  to  the  criminals !  At  midnight  we  must  be  over  in  the 
green  summer  house.  Yes,  Douglas,  we  must  make  haste;  for  it  would 
be  cruel  to  let  the  tender  Surrey  wait  still  longer.  So  we  will  give  his 
Geraldine  liberty  to  leave  the  feast;  and  we  ourselves  must  begin  our 
journey.  Ah,  Douglas,  it  is  a  hard  path  that  we  have  to  tread,  and  the 
Furies  and  gods  of  vengeance  bear  our  torches.  To  work,  then — to 
work  ! 

The  King  arose  from  his  seat,  and  stepped  to  the  Queen,  to  whom  he 
presented  his  hand  with  a  tender  smile. 

My  Lidy,  it  is  late,  said  he  ;  and  we,  who  are  King  of  so  may  sub- 
jects— we  are,  nevertheless,  in  turn  the  subject  of  a  King. — This  is  the 
physician  ;  and  we  must  obey  him.  He  has  ordered  me  to  seek  my 
couch  before  midnight,  and,  as  a  loyal  subject  must  do,  I  obey.  We 
wish  you,  therefore,  a  good  night,  Kate;  and  may  your  beautiful  eyes 
on  the  morrow  also  shine  as  star-like  as  they  do  to-night. 

They  will  shine  to-morrow  as  to-night,  if  my  lord  and  husband  is  still 
as  gracious  to  me  to-morrow  as  today,  said  Catharine  with  perfect  art- 
lessness  and  without  embarrassment,  as  she  gave  her  hand  to  the  King. 

Henry  cast  on  her  a  suspicious,  searching  look,  and  a  peculiar,  mali- 
cious expression  was  manifested  in  his  face. 

Do  you  believe  then,  Kate,  that  we  can  ever  be  ungracious  to  you  ? 
asked  he. 

As  to  that,  I  think,  said  she  with  a  smile,  that  even  the  sun  does  not 
aTWays  shine  ;  and  that  a  gloomy  night  always  succeeds  his  splendor. 

The  King  did  not  reply.  He  looked  her  steadily  in  the  face  ;  and  his 
features  suddenly  assumed  a  gentler  expression. 

Perhaps  he  had  compassion  on  his  young  wife.     Perhaps  he  felt  pity 
for  her  youth  and  her  enchanting  smile,  which  had  so  often  revived  and 
-iied  his  heart. 

Earl  Douglas  at  least  feared  so. 
re,  said  he,  it  is  late.     The  hour  of  midnight  is  drawing  nigh. 

Then  let  us  go,  exclaimed  the  King  with  a  sigh.     Yet  once  again, 


74 

good  night,  Kate !  Nay,  do  uot  aceompany-me  !  I  will  leave  the  hall 
quite  unobserved  ;  and  1  shall  be  pleased,  if  my  guests  will  still  pro- 
long the  fair  feast  till  morning.  All  of  you  remain  here !  No  one  but 
Douglas  accompanies  me. 

And  your  brother,  the  fool!  said  John  Hey  wood,  who  lopg  before 
had  come  out  of  his  hiding  place  and  was  now  standing  by  the  King. 
Yes,  come,  brother  Henry  ;  let  us  quit  this  feast.  It  is  not  becoming 
for  wise  men  of  our  sort  to  grant  our  presence  still  longer  to  the  feast 
of  fools.  Come  to  your  couch,  King,  and  I  will  lull  your  ear  to  sleep 
with  the  sayings  of  my  wisdom,  and  enliven  your  soul  with  the  manna 
of  my  learning. 

While  John  Heywood  thus  spoke,  it  did  not  escape  him  that  the  fea- 
tures of  the  Earl  suddenly  clouded  :md  a  dark  frown  settled  on  his  brow. 

Spare  your  wisdom  for  today,  John,  said  the  King;  for  you  would 
indeed  be  preaching  only  to  deaf  ears.  1  am  tired,  and  1  require  not 
your  erudition,  but  sleep.     Good  night,  John. 

The  King  left  the  hall,  leaning  on  Earl  Douglas's  arm. 

Earl  Douglas  does  not  wish  me  to  accompany  the  King,  whispered 
John  Heywood.  He  is  afraid  the  King  might  blab  out  to  me  a  little  of 
that  diabolical  work  which  they  will  commence  at  midnight.  Well,  I 
call  the  Devil,  as  well  as  the  King,  my  brother,  and  with  his  help,  I 
too  will  be  in  the  green  room  at  midnight.  Ah,  the  Queen  is  retiring ; 
and  there  is  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  leaving  the  hall.  I  have  a  slight  long- 
ing to  see  whether  the  Duke  goes  hence  luckily  and  without  danger,  or 
if  the  soldiers  that  stand  near  the  coach,  as  Wriothesley  says,  "will  per- 
chance be  the  Duke's  body  guard  for  this  night. 

Slipping  out  of  the  hall  with  the  quickness  of  a  cat,  John  Heywood 
passed  the  Duke  in  the  ante-room  and  hurried  on  to  the  outer  gateway, 
before  which  the  carriages  were  drawn  up. 

John  Heywood  leant  against  a  pillar  and  watched. — A  few  minutes, 
and  the  Duke's  tall  and  proud  form  appeared  in  the  entrance  hall ;  and 
the  footman,  hurrying  forwards,  called  the  Duke's  carriage. 

The  carriage  rolled  up  ;  the  door  was  opened. 

Two  men  wrapped  in  black  mantles  sat  by  the  coachman  ;  two  oth- 
ers stood  behind  as  footmen,  while  a  fifth  was  by  the  open  door  of  the 
carriage. 

The  Duke  first  noticed  him,  as  his  foot  had  already  touched  the  step 
of  the  carriage. 

This  is  not  my  equipage  !  These  are  not  my  people  !  said  he ;  and 
he  tried  to  step  back.  But  the  pretended  servant  forced  him  violently 
into  the  carriage  and  shut  the  door. 

Forwards  !  ordered  he.  The  carriage  rolled  on.  A  moment  still, 
John  Heywood  saw  the  Duke's  pale  face  appear  at  the  open  carriage- 
window,  and  it  seemed  to  him  as  though  he  were  stretching  out  his 
arms,  calling  for  help — then  the  carriage  disappeared  in  the  night. 

Poor  Duke!  murmured  John  Heywood.  The  gates  of  the  Tower 
are  heavy,  and  your  arm  will  not  be  strong  enough  to  open  them  again, 


when  they  have  once  closed  behind  you.  But  it  avails  nothing  to  think 
more  about  him  now.  The  Queen  is  also  in  danger !  Away  then  to 
the  Queen  ! 

With  fleet  foot,  John  Hey  wood  hastened  back  into  the  castle.  Through 
passages  and  corridors  he  slipped  hurried  along. 

Now  he  stood  in  the  corridor  which  led  to  the  apartments  of  the  Queen. 

I  will  constitute  her  guard  to  night,  muttered  John  Hey  wood,  as  he 
hid  himself  in  one  of  the  niches  in  the  corridor.  The  fool  by  his  pray- 
ers wilJL  keep  far  from  the  door  of  his  saint  the  tricks  of  the  Devil,  and 
protect  her  from  the  snares  which  the  pious  Bishop  Gardiner  and  the 
crafty  courtier  Douglas  want  to  lay  for  her  feet.  My  Queen  shall  not 
fall  and  be  ruined.     The  fool  yet  lives  to  protect  her. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE    QUEEN. 

From  the  niche  in  which  John  Hey  wood  had  hid  himself,  he  could  sur- 
vey the  entire  corridor  and  all  the  doors  opening  into  it — could  see  eve- 
rything, and  hear  everything  without  being  himself  seen  ;  for  the  pro- 
jecting pilaster  completely  shaded  him. 

So  John- Hey  wood  stood  and  listened.  All  was  quiet  in  the  corridor. 
In  the  distance  was  now  and  then  heard  the  deadened  sound  of  the  mu- 
sic; and  the  confused  hum  of  many  voices  from  the  festive  halls  forced 
its  way  to  the  listener's  ear. 

This  was  the  only  thing  that  John  Hey  wood  perceived.  All  else  was 
still. 

But  this  stillness  did  not  last  long.  The  corridor  was  lighted  up,  and 
the  sound  of  rapidly  approaching  footsteps  was  heard.  * 

It  was  the  gold-laced  lackeys  who  bore  the  large  silver  candelabra  to 
light  the  Queen,  who,  with  her  train  of  ladies,  was  passing  through  the 
corridor. 

She  looked  wondrously  beautiful !  The  glare  of  the  candles  borne 
before  her  illumined  her  countenance,  which  beamed  with  cheerfulness. 
As  she  passed  the  pillar  behind  which  John  Hey  wood  was  sanding,  she 
was  talking  in  unrestrained  gaiety  with  her  second  Maid  of  Honor ;  and  a 
clear  and  lively  laugh  rung  from  her  lips,  which  disclosed  both  rows  of 
her  dazzling  white  teeth.  Her  eyes  sparkled  ;  her  cheeks  were  flushed 
with  a  rich  red  ;  bright  as  stars  glittered  the  diamonds  in  the  di  idem 
that  encircled  her  lofty  brow;  like  liquid  gold  shone  her  dress  of  gold 
brocade,  the  long  trail  of  which,  trimmed  with  black  ermine,  was  borne 
by  two  lovely  pages. 


7b' 

Arrived  at  the  door  of  her  bedchamber,  the  Queen  dismissed  her 
pages  and  lackeys,  and  permitted  only  the  Maid  of  Honor  to  cross  the 
threshold  of  her  chamber  with  her. 

In  harmless  gossip,  the  pages  glided  down  the  corridor  and  the  stair- 
case. Then  came  the  lackeys  who  bore  the  candelabra.  They  also  left 
the  corridor. 

Now  all  was  quiet  again.  Still  John  Heywood  stood  and  listened, 
firmly  resolved  to  speak  to  the  Queen  yet  that  night,  even  should  he 
be  obliged  wake  her  from  sleep.  Only  he  wanted  to  wait  till  the  Maid 
of  Honor  also  had  left  the  Queen's  room. 

Now  the  door  opened,  and  the  Maid  of  Honor  came  out.  She  crossed 
the  corridor  to  that  side  where  her  own  apartments  were  situated. 
John  Heywood  heard  her  open  the  door  and  then  slide  the  bolt  on  the 
inside. 

Now  but  a  brief  time  longer,  and  I  will  go  to  the  Queen,  muttered 
John  Heywood. 

He  was  just  going  to  leave  his  lurking  place,  when  he  perceived  a 
noise  as  if  a  door  was  slowly  and  cautiously  opened. 

John  Heywood  cowered  again  close  behind  the  pillar  and  held  his 
breath  to  listen.  , 

A  bright  light  fell  over  the  corridor.  A  dress  came  rustling  nearer 
and  nearer. 

John  Heywood  gazed  astounded  and  amazed  at  the  figure,  which  just 
brushed  past  without  seeing  him. 

That  figure  was  Lady  Jane  Douglas. — Lady  Jane,  who,  on  account  of 
indisposition,  had  retired  from  the  feast  in  order  to  betake  herself  to 
rest.  Now,  when  all  rested,  she  watched — when  all  laid  aside  their 
festive  garments,  she  had  adorned  herself  with  the  same.  Like  the 
Queen,  she  wore  a  dres3of  gold  brocade,  trimmed  with  ermine,  ancHike 
her,  a  diadem  of  diamonds  adorned  Lady  Jane's  brow. 

Now  she  stood  before  the  Queen's  door  and  listened.  Then  a  fierce 
sneer  flitted  across  her  deathly  pale  face,  and  her  dark  eyes  flashed  still 
more. 

She  sleeps,  muttered  she.  Only  sleep,  Queen — sleep  till  we  shall 
come  to  awake  you  !     Sleep,  so  that  I  can  wake  for  you. 

She  raised  her  arm  threateningly  towards  the  door,  and  wildly  shook 
her  head.  Her  long  black  ringlets  encircled  and  danced  around  her 
sullen  brow  like  the  snakes  of  the  Furies;  and  pale  and  colorless,  and 
with  demon-like  beauty,  she  resembled  altogether  the  goddess  of  ven- 
geance, in  scornful  triumph,  preparing  to  tread  her  victim  beneath  her 
feet. 

With  a  low  laugh  she  now  glided  adown  the  corridor,  but  not  to  that 
staircase  yonder,  but  farther  down  to  the  end,  where  on  the  wall  hung 
a  life-size  picture  of  Henry  the  Sixth.  She  pressed  on  a  spring;  the  pic- 
ture flew  open  ;  and  through  the  door  concealed  behind  it,  Lady  Jane 
left  the  corridor. 

She  is  going  to  the  green- room  to  a  meeting  with  Henry  Howard  ! 


whispered  John  Hey  wood,  who  now  stepped  forth  from  hchind  the  pil- 
lar. Oh,  now  I  comprehend  it  all  ;  now  the  whole  of  this  devilish  plot 
is  clear  to  me ;  Lady  Jane  is  Earl  Surrey's  lady-love,  and  they  want  to 
make  the  King  believe  that  it  is  the  Queen.  Doubtless  this  Surrey  is 
with  them  in  the  conspiracy  ;  and  perhaps  he  will  call  Jane  Douglas  by 
the  name  of  the  Queen.  They  will  let  the  King  see  her  but  a  moment. 
She  wears  a  gold-brocade-dress  and  a  diamond  diadem  like  the  Queen  ; 
and  thereby  they  hope  to  deceive  Henry.  She  has  the  Queen's  form 
precisely  ;  and  everybody  knows  the  astonishing  similarity  and  likeness 
of  Lady  Jane's  voice  to  that  of  the.  Queen.  Oh,  oh,  it  is  a  tolerably 
cunning  plot !  But,  nevertheles-s,  you  shall  not  succeed,  and  you  s-h;ill 
not  yet  gain  the  victory.  Patience,  only  patience  !  We  likewise  will 
be  in  the  green  room  ;  and  face  to  face  with  this  royal  counteifeit,  we 
will  place  the  genuine  Queen  ! 

With  hurried  step  John  Heywood  also  left  the  corridor  which  was  now 
lonely  and  still,  for  the  Queeu  had  gone  to  rest. 

Yes,  the  Queen  slept,  and  yet  over  yonder  in  the  green  room  every- 
thing was  prepared  for  her  reception. 

It  was  to  be  a  very  brilliant  and  extraordinary  reception  ;  for  the 
King,  in  his  own  person,  had  betaken  himself  to  that  wing  of  the  castle, 
and  the  Chief-Master  of  Ceremonies,  Earl  Douglas,  had  accompanied  him. 

To  the  King,  this  excursion,  which  he  had  to  make  on  foot,  had  been 
very  troublesome;  and  this  inconvenience  had  made  him  only  still 
more  furious  and  excited,  and  the  last  trace  of  compassion  for  his  Queen 
had  disappeared  from  the  King's  breast,  for  on  Catharine's  account  he 
had  been  obliged  to  make  this  long  journey  to  the  green  room  ;  and 
with  a  grim  joy  Henry  thought  only  how  terrible  was  to  be  his  punish 
metlt  for  Henry  Howard  and  also  for  Catharine. 

Now  that  Earl  Douglas  had  brought  him  hither,  the  King  no  longer 
had  any  doubts  at  all  of  the  Queen's  guilt.  It  was  no  longer  an  accusa- 
tion— it  was  proof.  For  never  in  the  world  would  Earl  Douglas  have 
dared  to  bring  him,  the  King,  hither,  if  he  was  not  certain  that  he  would 
give  him  here  infallible  proofs. 

The  King,  therefore,  no  longer  doubted  ;  at  last  Henry  Howard  was  in 
his  power,  and  he  could  no  more  escape  him.  So  he  was  certain  of 
being  able  to  bring  these  two  hated  enemies  to  the  block,  and  of  feeling 
his  sleep  no  longer  disturbed  by  thoughts  of  his  two  powerful  rivals 

The  Duke  of  Norfolk  had  already  passed  the  gates  of  the  Tower,  and 
his  son  must  soon  follow  him  thither. 

At  this  thought  the  King  felt  an  ecstacy  so  savage  and  blood-thirsty, 
that  he  wholly  forgot  that  the  same  sword  that  was  to  strike  Henry 
Howard's  head,  was  drawn  on  his  Queen  also. 

They  were  now  standing  in  the  green  room;  and  the  King  leant  pant- 
ing and  moaning  on  Karl  Douglas's  arm. 

The  large  wide  room,  with  its  antique  furniture  and  its  faded  glory, 
was  only  gloomily  and  scantily  lighted  in  the  middle  by  the  two  .wax 
candles  of  the  candelabrum  that  Earl  Douglas  had  brought  with  him  ; 


while  further  away  it  was  enveloped  in  deep  gloom,  and  seemed  to  the 
eye  through  this  gloom  to  stretch  out  to  an  interminable  length. 

Through  that  door  over  there,  comes  the  Queen,  said  Douglas;  and 
he  himself  shrunk  at  the  loud  sound  of  his  voice,  which  in  the  large, 
desolate  room  became  of  awful  fulness.  And  that  there,  is  Henry  How- 
ard's entrance.  Oh,  he  knows  that  path  very  thoroughly ;  for  he  has 
often  enough  already  travelled  it  in  the  dark  night,  and  his  foot  no  lon- 
ger stumbles  on  any  stone  of  offence  ! 

But  he  will  perchance  stumble  on  the  headsman's  block!  muttered 
the  King  with  a  cruel  laugh. 

I  now  take  the  liberty  of  asking  one  question  more,  said  Douglas ; 
and  the  King  did  not  suspect  how  stormily  the  Earl's  heart  beat  at  this 
question,  is  your  Majesty  satisfied  to  see  the  Earl  and  the  Queen  make 
their  appearance  at  this  meeting?  Or,  do  you  desire  to  listen  to  a  little 
of  the  Karl's  tender  protestations? 

I  will  hear  not  a  little,  but  all!  said  the  King.  Ah,  let  us  allow  the 
Earl  yet  to  sing  his  swan-like  song  before  he  plunges  into  {.he  sea  of 
blood  ! 

Then,  said  Earl  Douglas,  then  we  must  put  out  this  light,  and  your 
Majesty  must  be  content  merely  to  hear  the  guilty  ones,  and  not  to  see 
them  also.  We  will  then  betake  ourselves  to  the  boudoir  here,  which 
I  have  opened  for  this  purpose,  and  in  which  is  an  easy-chair  for  your 
Majesty.  We  will  place  this  chair  near  the  open  door,  and  then  your 
Majesty  will  be  able  to  hear  every  word  of  their  tender  whispering. 

But  how  shall  we,  if  we  extinguish  this  our  only  light,  at  last  attain  to 
a  sight  of  this  dear  loving  pair,  and  be  able  to  afford  them  the  dramatic 
surprise  of  our  presence. 

Sire,  as  soon  as  She  Earl  of  Surrey  enters,  twenty  men  of  the  King's 
body  guard  will  occupy  the  ante  room  through  which  the  Earl  must 
pass;  and  it  needs  but  a  call  f.om  you  to  have  them  enter  the  hall 
with  their  torches.  I  have  taken  care  also,  that  before  the  private  back 
gate  of  the  palace  two  coaches  stand  ready,  the  drivers  of  which  know 
very  well  the  street  that  leads  to  the  Tower ! 

Two  coaches !  said  the  King  laughing.  Ah,  ah,  Douglas,  how  cruel 
we  are  to  separate  the  tender  loving  pair  on  this  journey  which  is  yet  to 
be  their  last !  Well,  perhaps  we  can  compensate  them  for  it,  and  allow 
these  turtle-doves  to  make  the  last  trip — the  trip  to  the  stake — together. 
No,  no,  we  will  not  separate  them  in  death.  Together  they  may  lay 
their  heads  on  the  block. 

The  King  laughed,  quite  delighted  with  his  jest,  while,  Jeaning  on  the 
Earl's  arm,  he  crossed  to  the  little  boudoir  on  the  other  side,  and  took 
his  place  in  the  arm-chair  set  near  the  door. 

Now  we  must  extinguish  the  light ;  and  may  it  please  your  Majesty 
to  await  in  silence  the  things'  that  are  to  come. 

The  Earl  extinguished  the  light;  and  deep  darkness  and  a  grave  like 
stillness  now  followed. 

But  this  did  not  last  long.    Now  was  heard  quite  distinctly  the  sound 


70 

of  footsteps.  They  came  nearer  and  nearer — now  a  door  was  he.ird  to 
open  and  shut  again,  and  it  was  as  though  some  one  was  creeping  softly 
along  on  his  toes  in  the  hall.  • 

Henry  Howard  !   whispered  Douglas. 

The  King  could  scarcely  restrain  the  cry  of  savage  malicious  delight 
that  forced  its  way  to  his  lips. 

The  hated  enemy  was  then  in  his  power;  he  was  convicted  of  the 
crime;  he  was  inevitably  lost. 

Geraldine  !  whispered  a  voice,  Geraldine  ! 

And  as  if  his  low  call  had  already  been  sufficient  to  draw  hither  the 
loved  one,  the  secret  door  here  quite  close  to  the  boudoir  opened.  The 
rustling  of  a  dress  was  very  distinctly  heard,  and  the  sound  of  footsteps. 

Geraldine!  repeated  Earl  Surrey. 

Here  I  am,  my  Hemy  ! 

With  an  exclamation  of  delight,  the  woman  rushed  forwards  towards 
the  sound  of  the  loved  voice. 

The  Queen  !  muttered  Henry ;  and  in  spite  of  himself  he  felt  his 
heart  seized  with  bitter  grief. 

He  saw  with  his  inward  eye  how  they  held  each  other  in  their  cm- 
brace.  He  heard  their  kisses  and  the  low  whisper  of  their  tender  vows  ; 
and  all  the  agonies  of  jealousy  and  wrath  filled  his  soul.  But  yet  the 
King  prevailed  upon  himself  to  be  silent  and  to  swallow  down  his  rage. 
He  wanted  to  hear  everything,  to  know  everything. 

He  clenched  his  hands  convulsively,  and  pressed  his  lips  firmly  to- 
gether to  hold  in  his  panting  breath.     He  wanted  to  hear. 

How  happy  they  both  were!  Henry  had  wholly  forgotten  that  ho 
had  come  to  reproach  her  for  her  long  silence  ;  she  did  not  think  about 
this  being  the  last  time  that  she  might  see  her  loiter. 

They  yvere  with  each  other,  and  this  hour  was  theirs.  What  did  the 
whole  world  matter  to  them?  What  cared  they  whether  or  not  mis- 
chief and  ruin  threatened  them  hereafter1? 

They  sat  by  each  other  on  the  divan,  quite  near  the  boudoir.  They 
jested  and  laughed  ;  and  Henry  Howard  kissed  away  the  tears  that  the 
happiness  of  the  present  caused  his  Geraldine  to  shed. 

He  syvore  to  her  eternal  and  unchanging  love.  In  blissful  silence,  she 
drank  in  the  music  of  his  words;  and  then  she  reiterated,  with  jubilant 
joy,  his  vows  of  love. 

The  King  could  scarcely  restrain  his  fury. 

The  heart  of  Karl  Douglas  leaped  with  satisfaction  and  gratification. 
A  lucky  thing  that  Jane  has  no  su-picion  of  our  presence,  thought  he — 
otherwise  she  would  have  been  less  unrestrained  and  ardent,  and  the 
King's  ear  would  have  imbibed  less  poison. 

Lady  Jane  thought  not  at  all  of  her  father  ;  she  scarcely  remembered 
that  this  very  night  would  destroy  her  hated  rival,  the  Queen. 

Henry  Howard  had  called  her  his  Geraldine  only.  Jane  entirely  for- 
got that  it  was  not  she  to  whom  her  lover  had  given  this  name. 

But  he  himself  finally  reminded  her  of  it. 


80 

Do  you  know,  Geraldine,  said  Earl  Surrey,  and  his  voice  which  had 
been  hitherto  so  cheerful  and  sprightly  was  now  sad — do  you  know, 
Geraldine,  th»t  I  have  had  doubts  of  you  1  Oh,  those  were  frightful, 
horrible  hours  ;  and  in  the  agony  of  my  heart,  I  came  at  last  to  the  res- 
olution of  going  to  the  King  and  accusing  myself  of  this  love  that  was 
consuming  my  heart.  Oh,  fear  naught !  I  would  not  have  accused  you. 
I  would  have  even  denied  that  love  which  you  have  so  often  and  with 
such  transporting  reality  sworn  to  me.  I  would  have  done  it  in-order 
to  see  whether  my  Geraldine  could  at  last  gain  courage  and  strength  to 
acknowledge  her  love  openly  and  frankly;  whether  her  heart  had  the 
power  to  burst  that  iron  batid  which  the  deceitful  rules  of  the  world  had 
placed  around  it;  whether  she  would  acknowledge  her  lover,  when  he 
was  willing  to  die  for  her.  Yes^  Geraldine,  1  wanted  to  do  it,  that  I 
might  finally  know  which  feeling  is  stronger  in  you— Move,  or  pride — 
and  whether  you  could  then  still  preserve  the  mask  of  indifference,  when 
death  was  hovering  over  your  lover's  head.  Oh,  Geraldine,  I  should 
deem  it  a  fairer  fate  to  die  united  with  you,  than  to  be  obliged  to  still 
longer  endure  this  life  of  constraint  and  hateful  etiquette. 

No,  no,  said  she  trembling,  we  will  not  die.  My  God,  life  is  indeed 
so  beautiful  when  you  are  by  my  side  !  And  who  knows  whether  a  fe- 
licitous and  blissful  future  may  not  still  await  us  ? 

Oh,  should  we  die,  then  should  we  be  certain  of  this  blissful  future, 
my  Geraldine.  There  above,  there  is  no  more  separation — no  more  re- 
nunciation for  us.  There  above,  you  are  mine  ;  and  the  bloody  image 
of  your  husband  no  longer  stands  between  us. 

It  shall  no  longer  do  that,  even  here  on  earth,  whispered  Geraldine. 
Come,  my  beloved ;  let  us  fly  far,  far  hence,  where  no  one  knows  us — 
where  we  can  cast  fr#m  us  all  this  hated  splendor  to  live  for  each  other 
and  for  love. 

She  threw  her  arms  about  her  lover,  and  in  the  ecstacy  of  her  love 
she  had  wholly  forgotten,  that  she  could  never  indeed  think  to  flee  with 
him,  that  he  belonged  to  her  only  so  long  as  he  saw  her  not. 

An  inexplicable  anxiety  overpowered  her  heart;  and  in  this  anxiety 
she  forgot  everything — even  the  Queen  and  the  vengeance  she  had 
vowed. 

She  now  remembered  her  father's  words,  and  she  trembled  for  her 
lover's  life. 

If  now  her  father  had  not  told  her  the  truth — if  now  he  had  notwith- 
standing sacrificed  Henry  Howard  in  order  to  ruin  the  Queen — if  she 
was  not  able  to  save  him,  and  through  her  fault  he  were  to  perish  on 
the  scaffold  ! . 

But  still  this  hour  was  hers,  and  she  would  enjoy  it. 

She  clung  fast  to  his  breast;  she  drew  him  with  irresistible  force  to 
her  heart,  which  now  trembled  no  longer  from  love,  but  from  a  name- 
less anxiety. 

Let  us  fly  !    Let  us  fly !  repeated  she  breathlessly.    See  !    This  hour 


81 

is  yet  ours.     Let  us  avail  ourselves  of  it ;  for  who  knows  whether  the 
next;  w ill  still  belong  to  us. 

No!  it.  is  no  longer  yours,  yelled  the  King,  a^  he  sprang  like  a  roused 
lion  from  his  seat.  Your  hours  are  numbered,  and  the  next  already  be- 
longs to  the  hangman  ! 

A  piercing  shriek  burst  from  Geraldine's  lips.  Then  was  heard  a  dull 
fall. 

She  has  fainted,  muttered  Earl  Douglas. 

Geraldiuc,  Geraldine,  my  loved  one!  cried  Henry  Howard.  My 
God,  my  God  !  she  is  dying  !     You  have  killed  her !     Woe  to  you  ! 

Woe  to  yourself!  said  the  King  solemnly.  Here  with  the  light. 
Here  you  folks  ! 

The  door  of  the  ante-room  opened,  and  in  it  appeared  four  soldiers 
with  torches  in  their  hands. 

Light  the  candles,  and  guard  the  door  !  said  the  King,  whose  dazzled 
eyes  were  not  yet  able  to  bear  this  bright  glare  of  light,  which  now  sud- 
denly streamed  through  the  room. 

The  soldiers  obeyed  his  orders.  A  pause  ensued.  The  King  had  put 
his  hand  before  his  eyes,  and  was  struggling  for  breath  and   self-control. 

When  at  length  he  let  his  hand  glide  down,  his  features  had  assumed 
a  perfectly  calm — almost  a  serene  expression. 

With  a  hasty  glance  he  surveyed  the  room.  He  saw  the  Queen  in 
her  dress  glistening  with  gold  ;  he  saw  how  she  lay  on  the  floor,  stretch 
ed  at  full  length,  her  face  turned  to  the  ground,  motionless  and  rigid. 

He  saw  Henry  Howard,  who  knelt  by  his  beloved  and  was  busy  about 
her  with  all  the  anxiety  and  agony  of  a  lover.  He  saw  how  he  pressed 
her  hands  to  his  lips  ;  how  he  put  his  hand  to  her  head  to  raise  it  from 
the  floor. 

The  King  was  speechless  with  rage.  He  could  only  lilt  his  arm  to 
beckon  the  soldiers  to  approach  ;  to  point  to  Henry  Howard  who  had 
not  yet  succeeded  in  raising  the  Queen's  head  from  the  floor. 

Arrest  him!  said  Earl  Douglas  lending  words  to  the  King's  mute 
sign.     In  the  King's  name  arrest  him,  and  conduct  him  to  the  Tower ! 

Yes,  arrest  him !  said  (he  King ;  and,  as  with  youthful  speed  he  walk- 
ed up  to  Henry  Howard  and  put  his  hand  heavily  on  his  shoulder,  he 
with  terrible  calmness  continued  :  Henry  Howard,  your  wish  shall  be 
fulfilled  ;  you  shall  mount  the  scafibld  for  which  you  have  so  much 
longed  ! 

The  Earl's  noble  countenance  remained  calm  and  unmoved  ;  his  bright 
beaming  eye  fearlessly  encountered  the  eye  of  the  King  flashing  with 
wrath. 

Sire,  said  he,  my  life,  la  in  your  band,  and  I  vpry  well  know  that  you 
will  not  spare  it.  1  d<>  noteteriask  you  to  do  so.  But  >yue  thtanoble 
and  beautiful  woman,  whose  only  crime,  is  that  she  has  followed  the  voice 
of  her.  heart.  Sire,  1  alone  am  the  guilty  one.  Punish  "me  then — tor- 
ture me,  if  you  like,  but  be  merciful  to  her. 

The  King  broke  out  into  a  loud  laugh.     Ah,  he  begs  for  her !  said  he. 


82 

This  little  Earl  Surrey  presumes  to  think  that  his  sentimental  love-plaint 
can  exercise  an  influence  on  the  heart  of  his  judge !  No,  no,  Henry 
Howard  ;  you  knbw  nie  better.  You  say  indeed,  that  1  am  aeruehnan, 
and  that  blood  cleaves  to  my  crown.  Well  now,  it  is  our  pleasuie  to 
set  in  our  crown  a  new  bloid-ied  ruby  ;  and  if  we  want  to  take  it  from 
Geraldine's  heart's  blood,  your  sonnets  will. not  hinder  us  from  doing 
so,  my  good  little  Earl.  That  is  all  the  reply  I  have  to  make  to  you; 
and  1  think  it  will  be  the  last  time  that  we  shall  meet  on  earth  ! 

Thereabove,  we  shall  see  each  other  again,  King  Henry  of  England  ! 
said  Earl  Surrey  solemnly.  Sphere  above,  Henry  the  Eighth  will  no 
more  be  the  judge,  but  the  condemned  criminal ;  and  your  bloody  and 
accursed  deeds  will  witness  against  you  ! 

The  King  laughed.  You  avail  yourself  of  your  advantage,  said  he. 
Because  you  have  nothing  more  to  lose,  and  the  scaffold  is  sure  of  you, 
you  do  not  stick  at  heaping  up  the  measure  of  your  sins  a  little  more, 
and  you  revile  your  legitimate,  God-appointed  King!  But  you  should 
bear  in  mind,  Earl,  that  before  the  scaffold  there  is  yet  the  rack,  and 
that  it  is  ven  possible  indeed  that  a  painful  question  might  there  be  put, 
to  the  noble  Earl  Surrey,  to  which  his  agonies  might  prevent  him  from 
returning  an  answer.  Now  away  with  you \  We  have  nothing  more 
to  say  to  each  other  on  earth  ! 

He  motioned  to  the  soldiers,  who  approached  the  Earl  of  Surrey.  As 
they  reached  their  hands  towards  him,  he  turned  on  them  a  look  so  proud 
and  commanding  that  they  involuntarily  recoiled  a  step. 

Follow  me!  said  Henry  Howard  calmly  ;  and  without  even  deigning 
the  King  a  single  look  more,  with  head  proudly  erect  he  walked  to  thedoor. 

Geraldine  still  lay  on  the  ground — her  face  turned  to  the  floor.  She 
stirred  not.     She  seemed  to  have  fallen  into  a  deep  swoon. 

Only  as  the  door  with  a  sullen  sound  closed  behind  Earl  Surrey,  a 
low  wail  and  moan  was  perceived — such  as  is  wont  to  struggle  forth  at 
the  last  hour  from  the  breast  of  the  dying. 

The  King  did  not  heed  it.  He  still  gazed,  with  eyes  stern  and  flash- 
ing with  auger,  towards  the  door  through  which  Earl  Surrey  had  passed. 

He  is  unyielding,  muttered  he.  Not  even  the  rack  affrights  him  ;  and 
in  his  blasphemous  haughtiness,  he  moves  along  in  the  midst  of. the  sol- 
diers, not  as  a  prisoner,  but  as  a  commander.  Oh,  these  Howards  are 
destined  to  torment  me;  and  even  their  death  will  scarcely  be  a  full 
satisfaction  to  me. 

Sire,  said  Earl  Douglas,  who  had  observed  the  King  with  a  keen  pene- 
trating eye,  and  knew  that  the  King  had  now  reached  the  height  of  hi.s 
wrath,  at  which  he  shrunk  from  no  deed  of  violence  and  no  cruelty — Sire, 
you  have  sent  Earl  Surrey  to  the  Tower.  But  what  shall  be  done  with 
the  Queen,  who  lies  there  on  the  floor  in  a  swoon. 

The  King  roused  himself  from  his  revery ;  and  his  blood-shot  eyes 
were  fixed  on  Geraldine's  motionless  form  with  so  dark  an  expression  of 
hate  and  rage,  that  Earl  Douglas  exultingly  said  to  himself :  The  Queen 
is  lost !     lie  will  be  inexorable  \ 


£3 

Ah,  the  Queen  !  cried  Henry  with  a  savage  laugh.  Yea  verily,  [  for- 
got the  Queen!  I  did  not  think  of  this  charming  Geraldine  !  But  you 
are  right,  Douglas,  we  must  think  of  her  and  occupy  ourselves  ;i  little 
with  her!  Did  you  Dot  say  that  a  second  coach  was  ieud\  ?  Well  then, 
we  will  not  hinder  Geraldine  from  accompanying  her  beloved.  She 
shall  be  where  he  is — in  the Tower^amd  on  the  scaffold  !  We  will  there- 
fore wake  this  sentimental  lady  and  show  her  the  lasUduty  of  a  cavalier 
by  conducting  her  to  her  carriage! 

lie  was  about  to  approach  the  figure  of  the  Queen  lying  on  the  floor. 
Earl  Douglas  held  him  bade. 

Sire,  said  he,  it  is  my  duty  as  your  faithful  subject,  who  loves  you 
and  trembles  for  your  welfare— it  is  my  duly,  to  implore  you  to  spare 
yourself  and  preserve  your  precious  and  adored  person  from  the  vene 
mous  sting  of  anger  and  grief  I  conjure  you.  therefore,  do  not  deign  to 
look  again  on  this  woman,  who  has  so  deeply  injured  you.  Give  me 
your  orders — what  I  am  to  do  with  her — and  allow  me  first  of  all  to  ac- 
company you  to  your  apartments. 

You  are  light,  said  the  King,  she  is  not  worthy  of  having  my  eye  rest 
on  her  again  ;  and  she  is  even  too  contemptible  for  my  anger!  We 
will  call  the  soldiers  that  they  may  conduct  this  traitoress  and  adultcr- 
es>  to  the  Tower,  as  they  have  done  her  paramour  ! 

Yet  for  that,  there  is  needed  still  a  formality.  The  Queen  will  not 
be  admitted  into  the  Tower  without  the  King's  written  and  sealed  order. 

Then  1  will  draw  up  that  order. 

Sire,  in  that  cabinet  yonder  may  be  found  the  necessary  writing  ma- 
terials, if  it  please  your'  Majesty. 

The  King  leant  in  silence  on  the  Earl's  arm,  and  allowed  himself  to 
be  led  again  into  the  cabinet. 

With  officious  haste,  Earl  Douglas  made  the  necessary  arrangements. 
He  rolled  the  writing  table  up  to  the  King;  h<^  placed  the  large  sheet  of 
white  paper  in  order,  and  slipped  the  pen  into  the  King's  hand. 

What,  shall  I  write?  asked  the  King,  who  by  the  exertion  of  his  night 
excursion,  and  of  his  anger  and  vexation,  began  at  length  to  be  exhausted. 

An  order  for  the  Queen's  imprisonment,  Sire. 

The  King  wrote.  Earl  Douglas  stood  behind  him,  with  eager  atten- 
tion, in  breathless  expectation,  his  looks  steadily  fixed  on  the.  paper  over 
which  the  King's  hand,  white,  fleshy  and  sparkling  with  diamonds,  gli- 
ded along  in  hasty  characters. 

He  had  at  length  reached  his  goal.  When  at  last  he  should  hold  in 
his  hand  the  paper,  which  the  King  was  th<m  writing — when*  he  had  in 
duced  Henry  to  return  to  his  apartments  before  the  imprisonment  of 
the  Queen  had  taken  place — then  was  he  victorious.  Not  that  woman 
there,  would  he  then  imprison  ;  but,  with  the  warrant  in  his  hand,  ho 
would  go  to  the  real  Queen,  and  tak<-  her  to  the  Tower. 

Once  in  the  Tower,  the  Qieeu  could  no  longer  defend  herself;  for  the 
King  would  see  her  no  more:  and  if  before  the  Parliament  she  protest- 
ed her  innocence  with  ever  so  sacred  oaths,  still  the   King's  testimony 


8-1 

must  convict  her ;    for   he  had    himself  surprised   her   with   her   para- 
mour. 

N.o,  there  was  no  escape  for  the.  Queen.  She  had  once  succeeded  in 
clearing  herself  of  an  accusation,  and  proving  her  innocence  by  a  rebut- 
ting alibi.  But  this  time  she  was  irretrievably  lost,  and  no  alibi  could 
deliver  her. 

The  KiDg  completed  his  work  and  arose,  whilst  Douglas,  at  his  com- 
mand, was  employed  in  setting  the  King's  seal  to  the  fatal  paper. 

From  the  hall  was  heard  a  slight  noise,  as  though  some  person  was 
cautiously  moving  about  there. 

Earl  Douglas  did  not  notice  it;  he  was  just  in  the  act  of  pressing  the 
signet  hard  on  the  melted  sealing-wax. 

The  King  heard  it,  and  supposed  that  it  was  Geraldine,  and  that  she 
was  just  waking  from  her  swoon  and  rising. 

He  stepped  to  the  door  of  the  hall,  and  looked  towards  the  place 
where  she  was  lying.  But  no— she  had  not  yet  risen  ;  she  still  lay 
stretched  at  lull  length  on  the  "floor. 

She  has  come  to  ;  but  she  pretends  to  be  still  in  a  swoon,  thought  the 
King ;  and  he  turned  to  Douglas. 

We  are  done,  said  he  ;  the  warrant  for  imprisonment  is  prepared,  and 
the  sentence  of  the  adulterous  Queen  is  spoken.  We  have  done  with 
her  forever;  and  never  shall  she  again  behold  our  face,  nor  again  hear 
our  voice.  She  is  sentenced  and  damned,  and  the  royal  mercy  has 
nothing  more  to  do  with  this  sinner.  .A  curse  on  the  adulteress!  A 
curse  on  the  shameless  woman  who  deceived  her  husband,  and  gave  her- 
self up  to  a  traitorous  paramour  !  Woe  to  her,  and  may  shame  and 
disgrace  forever  mark  her  name,  which 

Suddenly  the  King  stopped  and  listened.  The  noise  that  he  had 
heard  just  before  was  now  repeated  louder  and  quicker;  it  came  nearer 
and  nearer. 

And  now  the  door  opened  and  a  figure  entered— a  figure  which  made 
the  King  stare  with  astonishment  and  admiration.  It  came  nearer  and 
nearer — light,  graceful,  and  with  the  freshness  of  youth;  a  gold-brocade 
dress  enveloped  it;  a  diadem  of  diamonds  sparkled  on  the  brow;  and 
brighter  yet  than  the  diamonds  beamed  the  eyes. 

No,  the  King  was  not  mistaken.  Jt  was  the  Queen.  She  was  stand- 
ing before  him — and  yet  she  still  lay  motionless  and  stiff  upon  the  floor 
yonder. 

The  King  uttered  a  cry,  and  turning  pale,  reeled  a  step  backward. 

The  Queen!  exclaimed  Douglas  in  terror;  and  he  trembled  so  vio- 
lently that  the  paper  in  his  hand  rattled  and  fluttered. 

Yes,  the  Queen  !  said  Catharine  with  a  haughty  smile.  The  Queen, 
who  comes  to  scold  her  husband,  that  contrary  to  his  physicians  orders, 
he  still  refrains  from  his  slumbers  at  so  late  an  hour  of  the  night. 
•  And  the  fool !  said  John  Hey  wood,  as  with  humorous  pathos  he  step- 
ped forward  from  behind  the  Queen.  The  fool,  who  comes  to  ask  Earl 
Douglas  how  he  dared  deprive  John  Hey  wood  of  his  oflice,  and  usurp 


S5 

the  place  of  King's  fool  to  Henry,  and  deceive  his  most  gracious  Majes- 
ty with  all  manner  of  silly  pranks  and  carnival  tricks?  ' 

And  who — asked  the  King  in  a  voice  quivering  with  rage,  fastening 
his  flashing  looks  on  Douglas  with  an  annihilating  expression — who,  then, 
is  that  woman  there?  Who  has  dared  with  such  cursed  mummery  to 
deceive  the  King,  and  calumniate  the  Queen? 

Sire,  said  Earl  Douglas,  who  very  well  knew  that  his  future,  and  that 
of  his  daughter,  depended  on  the  present  moment,  and  whom  this. con- 
sciousness had  speed! i  \  restored  to  his  self-possession  and  .calmness — 
Sire,  1  beseech  your  Majesty  for  a  moment,  of  private  explanation  ;  and 
I  shall  be  entirely  successful  in  vindicating  myself. 

Do  not  grant  it  him,  brother  Henry,  said  John  Hey  wood  ;  he  is  a 
dangerous. juggler;  and  who  knows  whether  he  may  not  yet,  in  this  pri- 
vate conversation,  convince  you  that  he  is  the  King,  and  you,  nothing 
more  than  his  lickspittle,  fawning,  hypocritical  servant  Earl  Archibald 
Douglas  ! 

My  Lord  and  husband,  I  beg  you  to  hear  the  Earl's  justification,  said 
Catharine,  as  she  extended  her  hand  to  the  King  with  a  bewitching  smile. 
It  would  lie  cruel  to  condemn  him  unheard. 

I  will  hear  him,  but  it  shall  be  done  in  your.presence,  Kate;  and  you 
yourself  shall  decide  whether  or  not  his  justification  is  sufficient. 

No  indeed,  my  husband;  let  me  remain  an  entire  stranger  to  this 
night's  conspiracy,  so  that  spite  and  anger  may  not,  fill  my  heart  and  rob 
me  of  tii-  serene  confidence,  which  1  need  to  be  able  to  walk  on  at  your 
side  happy  ami  smiling  in  the  midst  of  my  enemies. 

You  sire  right,  Kate,  said  the  King  thoughtfully.  You  have  many 
enemies  at  our  Court;  and  we  have  to  accuse  ourselves,  that  we  have 
not  always  succeeded  in  stopping  our  ear  to  their  malicious  whisperings, 
and  in  keeping  ourselves  pure  from  the  poisonous  breath  of  their  calum- 
ny. Our  heart  is  still  too  artless,  and  we  cannot  even  yet  comprehend, 
that  men  are  a  disgusting,  corrupt  race,  which  one  should  tread  beneath 
bis  feet,  but  never  take  to  his  heart.  Come,  Earl  Douglas,  I  will  hear 
you  ;  but  woe  to  yon,  if  you  are  unable  to  justify  yourself. 

He  retired  to  the  embrasure  of  the  large  window  of  the  boudoir. 
Earl  Douglas  followed  him  thither,  and  let  the  heavy  velvet  curtain  drop 
behind  them. 

Sire,  said  he  hardily  and  resolutely,  the  question  now  is  this — whose 
head  would  you  rather  give  over  to  the  executioner — mine,  or  the  Ear] 
of  Surrey's?  You  have  the  choice  between  the  two.  You  are  aware, 
that  I  have  ventured  for  a  moment  to  deceive  you.  Well,  send  me  to 
the  Tower  then,  and  set  free  the  noble  Henry  Howard,  that  be  may 
henceforth  disturb  your  sleep  and  poison  your  days;  that  he  may  further 
court  the  love  of  the  people,  and  perhaps  tome  day  rob  your  son  of  the 
throne  that  belongs  to  him.  Here  is  my  head,  Sire ;  it  is  forfeited  to 
the  headman's  axe.  and  Earl  Surrey  is  free! 

No,  he  is  not  free,  and  shall  never  be  !  said  the  King  grinding,  his  teeth. 

Then,  my  King,  I  am  justified  :  and  instead  of  being  angry  with  nm. 


86 

you  will  thank  me!  It  is  true  I  played  a  hazardous  game,  but  I  did  so 
in  the  service  of  my  King  I  did  it  because  I  loved  him,  and  because  I 
read  on  your  lofty  clouded  brow  the.  thoughts  that  begirt  with  darkness 
rny  master's  soul,  and  disturbed  the  sleep  of  his  nights.  You  wanted  to 
have  Henry  Howard  in  your  power ;  and  this  crafty  and  hypocritical  Earl 
knew  how  t<>  conceal  his  guilt  s<»  securely  under  the  mask  of  virtue  and 
1  jftiness  of  soul.  But  I  knew  him,  and  behind  this  mask  1  had  seen  his 
face  distorted  with  passion  and  crirue.  I  wanted  to  unmask  him  ;  but  for 
this,  it  was'nec  ssury  that  i  should  deceive  fir-t  him.  and  then  for  the  hour 
even  you  your.-eU'.  !  knew  that  he  burne'd  with  an  adulterous  love  for 
the  Queen,  and  I  wanted  to  avail  myself  of  the  madness  of  this  passion, 
in  order  to  bring  him  surely  and  unavoidably  to  richly  deserved  punish- 
ment. But  1  would  not  draw  the  pure  and  exalted  person  of  the  Queen 
into  this  net  with  which  we  watred  to  surround  Earl  Surrey.  1  was 
obliged,  then,  to  seek  a  substitute,  for  her  ;  and  I  did  so  There  was  at 
your  Coutt  a  woman, whose  whole  heart  belongs,  after  God,  to  the  King 
alone  ;  and  who  so  much  adores  him,  that  she  would  be  ready  any  hour 
gladly  to  sacrifice  for  the  King  her  heart's  blood,  her  whole  being — a)  e, 
if  need  be,  even  her  honor  itself — a  woman,  Sire,  who  lives  by  your 
smile,  and  worships  you*as  her  redeemer  and  saviour — a  woman,  whom 
you  might,  as  you  pleased,  make  a  saint  or  a  strumpet ;  and  who,  to 
pleace  you,  would  be  a  shameless  Phryne.  or  a  chaste  veiled  nun. 

Tell  me  her  name,  Douglas,  said  the  King,  tell  me  it!  It  is  a  rare 
and  precious  stroke,  of  fortune  to  be  so  loved  ;  aud  it  would  be  a  sin  not 
to  want  to  enjoy  this  good  fortune. 

Sire,  I  will  tell  you  her  name  when  you  have  first  forgiven  me,  said 
Douglas,  whose  heart  leaped  for  joy, -and  who  well  understood  that  the 
King's  anger  was  already  mollified  and  the  danger  now  almost  overcome. 
I  said  to  this  woman  :  "  You  are  to  do  the  King  a  great  service ;  you 
are  to  deliver  him  from  a  powerful  and  dangerous  foe  !  You  are  to  save 
him  from  Henry  Howard!" — Tell  me  what  I  must  do!  cried  she,  her 
looks  beaming  with  joy. — "  Henry  Howard  loves  the  Queen.  You  must 
be  the  Queen  to  him.  You  must  receive  his  letters,  and  answer  them 
in  the  Queen's  name.  You  must  grant  him  interviews  by  night,  and, 
favored  by  the  darkness  of  the  night,  make  him  believe  that  it  is  the 
Queen  whom  he  holds  in  his  arms.  He  must  be  convinced  that  the 
Queen  is  his  lady-love ;  and  in  his  thoughts,  as  in  his  deeds,  he  must  be 
placed  before  the  King  as  a  traitor  and  criminal  whose  head  is  forfeited 
to  the  headsman's  axe.  One  day  we  will  let  the  King  be  a  witness  of  a 
meeting  that  Henry  Howard  believes  he  has  with  the  Queen  ;  it  will 
then  be  in  his  power  to  punish  his  enemy  for  his  criminal  passion,  which 
is  worthy  of  death  !"  And  as  I  thus  spoke  to  the  woman,  Sire,  she  said 
with  a  sad  smile  :  It  is  a  disgraceful  and  dishonorable  part  that  you  assign 
me;  but  I  undertake  it,  for  you  Gay  I  may  thereby  render  a  service  to 
the  King.  I  shall  disgrace  myself  for  him;  but  he  will  perhaps  bestow 
upon  me'in  return  a  gracious  smile;  and  then  I  shall  be  abundantly  re- 
ward* i 


But  this  woman  is  an  angel  !  cried  the  King  ardeUtly.  An  angel 
whom  we  should  kneel  to  and  adore,  Douglas.  Tell  me  her  name, 
Douglas ! 

Sire,  as  soon  as  you  have  forgiven  me!  You  know  now  all  my  guilt 
and  all  my  crime.  For,  as  I  bade  that  noblewoman,  so  it  came  to  pass, 
and  Henry  Howard  has  gone  to  the  Tower  in  the  firm  belief  that  it  was 
the  Queen  whqin  hcjusl  now  held  in  his  arms. 

But  why  did  you  leave  me  iti  this  belief,  Douglas'?  Why  did  you  fill 
my  heart  with  wrath  against  the  noble  and  virtuous  Queen  also? 

Sire,  1  dared  hot  rev.eal  this  deception  to  you  before  you  had  sentenced 
Surrey,  for  }our  noble  and  just  moral  sense  would  have  been  reluctant 
..to  punish  him  on  account  of  a  crime  that  he  had  not  committed  ;  and  in 
your  first  wrath,  you  would  have  also  blamed  this  noble  woman,  who 
lias  sacrificed  herself  for  her  King. 

It  is  true,  said  the  King,  I  should  have  misjudged  this  noble  woman, 
und  instead  of  thanking  her,  I  should  have  destroyed  her. 

Therefore,  my  King,  I  quietly  allowed  you  to  make  out  an  order  for 
the  Queen's  incarceration.  But  you  remember  well,  Sire,  I  begged  you 
to  return  to  your  apartments  before  the  Queen  was  arrested.  Well  now, 
there  I  should  have  disclosed  to  you  the  whole  secret,  which  I  could  not 
tell  you  in  the  presence  of  that  woman.  For  she  would  die  of  sham*1, 
if  she  suspected  that  you  knew  <  f  her  love  for  the  King,  so  pure  and 
self-sacrificing,  and  cherished  in  such  heroic  silence  ! 

Sir.  ver  know  it,  Douglas!     But  now  at  length  satisfy  my 

desire.      tell  me  her  name. 

Sire,  \  ou  have  forgiven  me,  then  ?  You  are  no  longer  angry  with 
me  that  I  dared  to  deceive  you  ? 

I  am  no  longer  angry  with  you,  Douglas;  for  you  haje  acted  rightly. 
The  plan,  which  you  have  contrived  and  carried  out  with  such  happy 
result,  was  as  crafty  as  it  was  daring. 

I  thank  you,  Sire;  and  1  will  now  tell  you  the.  name.  That  woman, 
Sire,  who  at  my  wish  gave  herself  up  a  sacrifice  to  this  adulterous  Earl, 
who  endured  his  kisses,  his  embraces,  his  vows  of  love,  in  order  to  ren- 
der a  service  to  her  King — that  woman  was  my  daughter,  Lady  Jane 
Douglas  ! 

Lady  Jane?  cried  the  King.  No,  no,  this  is  a  new  deception.  That 
haughty,  chaste  aDd  unapproachable  Lady  Jane — that  wonderfully  beau- 
tiful marble  statue  really  has  then  a  heart  in  her  breast,  and  that  heart 
belongs  to  me?  Lady  Jane,  the  pure  and  chaste  virgin,  has  made  for 
me  this  prodigious  sacrifice,  of  receiving  this  hated  Surrey  as  her  lover, 
in  order,  like  a  second  Delilah,  to  deliver  him  unto  my  band  \  No, 
Douglas,  you  are  lying  to  me.     Lady  Jane  has  not  done  that  ! 

May  it  please  your  Majesty  to  go  yourself  and  take  a  look  at  that 
fainting  woman,  who  was  to  Henry  Howard,  the  Queen. 

The  King  did  not  reply  to  him  ;  but  drew  back  the  curtain  and  re- 
entered the  cabinet,  in  which  the  Queen  was  waiting  with  John  Hey- 
wood. 


38 

Henry  did  not  notice  them.  With  youthful  precipitation,  he  crossed 
the  cabinet  and  the  hall.  Now  he  stood  by  the  figure  of  Geraldine  still 
lying  on  the  floor. 

*  She  was  no  longer  in  a  swoon.  She  had  long  since  regained  her  con- 
sciousness;  and  terrible  were  the  agonies  and  tortures  that  rent  her 
heart.  Henry  Howard  had  incurred  the  penalty  of  the  headsman's  axe, 
and  it  was  she  that  had  betrayed  him. 

But  her  father  had  sworn  to  her  that  she  should  save  her  lover. 

She  durst  not  die  then.     She  must  live  to  deliver  Henry  Howard. 

There   was  burning,  as  it  were,   the  tires  of  hell  in  her  poor  heart ; 
but  she  was  not  at  liberty  to  heed  these  pains.     She  could  not  think  of 
herself—  only  of  him — of  Henry  Howard,  whom   she.  must  deliver,  ' 
whom  she  must  save  from  death. 

For  him  she  sent  up  her  fervent  prayers  to  God  ;  for  him  her  heart 
trembled  with  anxiety  and  agony,  as  the  King  now  advanced  to  her, 
aud  bending  down,  gazed  into  her  eyes  with  a  strange  expression  atouce 
scrutinizing  and  smiling. 

Lady  Jane,  said  he  then,  as  he  presented  her  his  hand,  arise  from  the 
ground  and  allow  your  King  to  express  to  you  his  thanks  for  your  sublime 
and  wonderful  sacrifice  !  Verily,  it  is  a  fair  lot  to  be  a  King  ;  for  then  one 
has  at  least  the  power  of  punishing  traitors,  and  of  rewarding  those  that 
serve  us.  I  have  to  day  done  the  ot\e,  and  I  will  not  neglect  to  do  the 
other  also.  Stand  up,  then,  Lady  Jane  ;  it  doe.s  not  become  you  to  lie 
on  your  knees  before  me  ! 

Oh,  let  me  kneel,  my  King,  said  she  passionately  ;  let  me  beseech  you 
for  mercy,  for  pity  !  Have  compassion,  King  Henry — compassion  on 
the  anxiety  and  agony  which  I  endure.  It  is  not  possible  that  this  is  all 
a  reality  ;  that  tfiis  juggling  is  to  be  changed  into  such  terrible  earnest  ! 
Tell  me,  King  Henry— I  conjure  you  by  the  agonies  which  I  suffer  for 
your  sake — tell  me,  what  will  you  do  with  Henry  Howard  ?  Why  have 
you  sent  him  to  the  Tower  1 

To  punish  the  traitor  as  he  deserves,  said  the  King,  and  he  cast  a  dark 
and  angry  look  across  at  Douglas,  who  had  also  approached  his  daugh- 
ter, and  was  now  standing  close  by  her. 

Lady  Jane  utte/ed  a  heart-rending  cry,  and  sank  down  again,  sense- 
less and  completely  exhausted. 

The  King  frowned.  It  is  possible,  said  he — and  I  almost  believe  it — 
that  I  have  been  deceived  in  many  ways  this  evening,  and  that  now  again 
my  guilelessness  has  been  played  upon  in  order  to  impose  upon  me  a 
charming  story.  However,  I  have  given  my  word  to  pardon;  and  it 
shall  not  be  said  that  Henry  the  Eighth,  who  calls  himself  God's  pro- 
tector, has  ever  broken  his  word  ;  nor  even  that  he  has  punished  those 
whom  he  has  assured  of  exemption  from  punishment. 

My  Lord  Douglas,  I  will  fulfill  my  promise.     I  forgive  you. 

He  extended  his  hand  to  Douglas,  who  kissed  it  fervently.  The  King 
bent  down  closer  to  him.  Douglas,  whispered  he,  you  are  as  cunning 
as  a  serpent-,  and  I  now  see  through  your  artfully  woven  web!    You 


• 

wanted  to  destroy  Surrey,  but  the  Queen  was  to  sink  into  the  abyss  with 
him.  Because  I  am  indebted  to  you  for  Surrey,  I  forgive  you  what  you 
have  done  to  the  Queen.  But  take  heed  to  yourself,  take  heed  that  I 
do  not  meet  you  again  on  the  same  track  ;  do  not  ever  try  again,  by  a 
look,  a  word,  aye,  even%  by  a  smile,  to  cast  suspicion  on  the  Queen. 
The  slightest  attempt  would  cost  you  your  life  !  Tint  1  swear  to  y6u 
by  the  Holy  Mother  of  God  ;  and  you  know  that  I  have  never  yet  bro- 
ken that  oath.  As  regards  Lady  Jane,  we  do  not  want  to  consider  that 
she  has  misused  the  name  of  our  illustrious  and  virtuous  consort  in  or- 
der to  draw  this  lustful  and  adulterous  Earl  into  the  net  which  you  had 
spt  for  him  ;  she  obeyed  your  orders,  Douglas  ;  and  we  will  not  now  de- 
cide, what  other  motives  besides  have  urged  her  to  this  deed.  She  may 
settle  that  with  God  and  her  own  conscience,  and  it  does  not  behoove 
us  to  decide  about  it. 

But  it  behooves  me,  perhaps,  my  husband,  to  ask  by  what  ri^ht  Lady 
Jane  has  dared  to  appear  here  in  this  attire,  and  to  present  to  a  certain 
degree  a  counterfeit  of  her  Queen?  asked  Catharine  in  a  sharp  tone.  [ 
may  well  be  allowed  to  ask,  what  has  made  my  Maid  of  Honor,  who 
left  the  festive  hall  sick,  now  all  at  once  so  well  that  she  goes  roaming 
about  the  castle  in  the  urght  time,  and  in  a  dress  which  seems  likely  to 
be  mistaken  for  mine.  Sire,  was  this  dress  perchance  a  craftily  devised 
stratagem,  in  order  to  really  confound  us  with  one  another  ?  You  are 
silent,  my  lord  and  King.  It  is  true,  then,  they  have  wanted  to  carry 
out  a  terrible  plot  against  me;  and  without  the  assistance  of  my  faith- 
ful and  honest  friend,  John  Ileyv/ood,  who  brought' me  here,  I  should 
without  doubt  be  now  condemned  and  lost,  as  the  Earl  of  Surrey  is. 

Ah,  John,  it  was  you  then  that  brought  a  little  light  into  this  darkness  ? 
cried  the  King  with  a  cheerful  laugh,  as  he  laid  his  hand  on  Heywood's 
shoulder.  Now,  verily,  what  the  wise  and  prudent  did  not  see,  that  the 
fool  has  seen  through  ! 

King  Henry  of  England,  said  John  Heywood  solemnly,  many  call 
themselves  wise,  and  yet  they  are  fools;  and  many  assume  the  mask 
of  folly,  because  fools  only  are  allowed  to  be  wise.' 

Kate,  said  the  King,  you  are  right ;  this  was  a  bad  right  for  you,  but 
God  and  the  fool  have  saved  you  and  me.  We  will  both  be  thankful 
for  it.  But  it  is  well  if  you  do  as  you  before  wished,  and  ask  and  in- 
quire nothing  more  concerning  the  mysteries  of  this  night.  It  was  brave 
in  yon  to  come  here,  and  I  will  be  mindful  of  it.  Come,  my  little  Queen, 
give  me  your  arm  and  conduct  me  to  my  apartments.  I  tell  you,  child, 
it  gives  me  joy  to  be  able  to  lean  on  your  arm,  and  se.p.  your  dear 
sprightly  face,  blenched  by  no  fear,  or  terrors  of  conscience.  Come, 
Kate,  you  alone  shall  lead  me,  and  to  you  alone  will  I  trust  myself. 

Sire,  you  are  too  heavy  for  the  Queen,  said  the  fool,  as  he  put  his 
neck  under  the  other  arm.  Let  me  share  with  her  the  burden  of  roy- 
alty. 

But  before  we  go,  said  Catharine,  I  have,  my  husband,  one  request! 
Will  you  grant  it? 


i;0 

• 

I  will  grant  everything  that  you  may  ask,  provided  you  will  not  re- 
quire me  to  send  you  to  the  To  we/. 

Sire,  1  wish  to  dismiss  my  Maid  of  Honor,  Lady  Jane  Douglas,  from 
my  service — that  is  all,  said  the  Queen,  as  her  eyes  glanced  with  an 
expression  of  contempt,  and  yet  at  the  same  time  of  pain,  at  the  form 
of  her  friend  of  other  days,  prostrate  on  the  floor. 

She  is  dismissed!  said  the  King.  You  will  choose  another  Maid  of 
Honor  to-morrow.     Come,  Kate,! 

And  the  King,  supported  by  his  consort  and  John  Ileyvvood,  left 
the  room  with  slow  and  heavy  steps. 

Earl  Dougias  watched  them  with  a  sulhm  hateful  expression.  As  the 
door  closed  after  them  he  raised  his  arm  threateningly  towards  heaven, 
and  his  trembling  lips  uttered  a  fierce  curse  and  execration. 

Vanquished!  vanquished  again!  muttered  he  gnashing  his  teeth. 
Humbled  by  this  woman,  whom  I  hate,  and  whom  I  will  yet  destroy  ! 
Yes,  she  has  cunquered  this  time;  but  we  will  commence  the  struggle 
anew,  and  our  envenomed  weapon  shall  nevertheless  strike  her  at  last ! 

Suddenly  he  felt  a  hand  laid  heavily  on  his  shoulder,  and  a  pair  of  glar- 
ing, flaming  eyes  gazed  at  him. 

Father,  said  Lady  Jane,  as  she  threw  her  right  hand  threateningly  to- 
wards heaven — father,  as  true  as  there  is  a  God  above  us,  I  will  accuse 
you  yourself  to  the  King  as  a  traitor — I  will  betray  to  him  all  your  ac- 
cursed plots,  if  you  do  not  help  me  to  deliver  Henry  Howard. 

Her  father  looked  with  an  expression  almost  melancholy  in  her  face, 
painfully  convulsed  and  pale  as  marble.  I  will  help  you  !  said  he.  1 
will  do  it,  if  you  will  help  me  also,  and  further  my  plans. 

Oh,  only  save  Henry  Howard,  *ad  1  will  sign  myself  away  to  the 
Devil  with  my  heart's  blood  !  said  Jane  Douglas  with  a  horrible  smile. 
Save  his  life,  or  if  you  have  not  the  power  to  do  that,  then  at  least  pro- 
cure me  the  happiness  of  beiugable  to  die  with  him. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

UNDECEIVED. 

Parliament,  which  had  not  for  a  long  time  now  ventured  to  offer 
any  further  opposition  to .,  the  King's  will — Parliament  had  acquiesced 
in  his  decree.  It  had  accused  Earl  Surrey  of  high  treason ;  and  on  the 
sole  testimony  of  his  mother  and  his  sister,  he  had  been  declared  guilty 
of  laesa  majestas  and  high  treason.  A  few  words  of  discontent  at  his 
removal  from  office,  some  complaining  remarks  about  the  numerous  e.v- 


<)l 

edition's  that  drenched  England's  soil  with  blood — that  was  ail  that  the 
Duchess  of  Richmond  had  been  able  to  bring  against  hi tn.  That  he, 
like  his  father,  bore  the  arms  of  the  Kings  of  England — that  was  tho 
only  evidence  of  high  treason  of  which  his  mother,  the  Duchess  of  Nor- 
folk, could  charge  him.* 

These  accusations  were  of  so  trivial  a  character,  that  the  Parliament 
well  knew  they  were  not  the  ground  of  his  arrest,  but  only  a  pretext 
for  it. — Only  a  pretext,  by  which  the  King  said  to  his  pliant  and  trem- 
bling Parliament:  This  man  is  innocent;  but  I  will  that  you  condemn 
him  ;  and,  therefore,  y  ou  will  account  the  ac  usation  sufficient 

Parliament  had  not  the  courage  to  oppose  the  King's  will.  These 
members  of  Parliament  were  nothing  more  than  a  flock  of  sheep,  who, 
in  trembling  dread  of  the  sharp  teeth  of  the  dog,  go  straight  along  the 
path  which  the  dog  shows  them. 

The  King  wanted  them  to  condemn  the  Earl  of  Surrey;  and  they 
condemned  him. 

They  summoned  him  before  their  judgment  seat,  and  it  was  in  vain, 
that  he  proved  his  innocence  in' a  speech  spirited  and  glowing  with  elo- 
quence. These  noble  members  of  Parliament  would  not  see  that  he 
was  innocent. 

It  is  true,  indeed,  there  were  a  few  who  were  ashamed  to  bow  their 
heads  so  unreservedly  beneath  the  King's  sceptre,  which  dripped  with 
blood  like  a  headsman's  axe.  There  were  still  a  few  to  whom  the  ac 
cusation  appeared  insufficient ;  but  they  were  outvoted  ;  and  in  order 
to  give  Parliament  a  warning  example,  the  King,  on  the  very  same  da\ , 
had  these  obstinate  ones  arrested  and  accused  of  some  pretended  crime. 
For  this  people,  enslaved  by  the  King's  cruelty  and  savage  barbarity,  was 
already  so  degeuerate  and  debased  in  self-consciousness,  that  men  were 
always  and  without  trouble  found,  who,  in  order  to  please  the  King  and 
his  blood-thirstiness  und  sanctimonious  hypocrisy,  degraded  themselves 
to  informers,  and  accused  of  crime  those  whom  the  King's  dark  frown 
had  indicated  to  them  as  offenders. 

So  Parliament  had  doomed  the  Earl  of  Surrey  to  die,  and  the  Kiug 
had  signed  his  death-warrant. 

Early  next  morning  he  was  to  be  executed  ;  and  in  the  Tower  yard 
the  workmen  were  already  busy  in  erecting  the  scaffold  on  which  the 
noble  Earl  was  to  be  beheaded. 

Henry  Howard  was  alone  in  his  cell.  He  had  done  with  life  and 
earthly  things.  He  had  set  his  house  in  orSer  and  made  his  will  ;  be 
had  written  to  his  mother  and  sister,  and  forgiven  them  for  tin  ir  tr<  i<  h 
ery  and  accusation  ;  he  had  addressed  a  letter  to  his  father,  in  which  he 
exhorted  him,  in  words  a-*  noble  as  the}r  were  touching,  to  steadfastness 
and  calmness,  and  bide  him  not  to  weep  for  him,  for  death  was  his  de 
sire,  and  the  grave  the  only  refuge  for  which  he  longed. 

He  had  then,  as  we  have  said,  done  with  life  ;  and  earthly  things  no 
longer  disturbed   him.     He  felt  no    ro^r.'t  and  no  fenr.     Life  had  left 
♦Trtler,  pige402.    Darnel, ?ol  1.  page  96. 


i)2 

him  nothing  more  to  wish  ;  and  he  almost  thanked  the  King  that  he 
would  so  soon  deliver  him  from  the  burthen  of  existence. 

The  future  had  nothing  more  to  offer  him  ;  why  then  should  he  desire 
it?  Why  long  for  a  life,  which  could  be  for  him  now  only  an  isolated, 
desolate,  and  gloomy  one  ?  For  Geraldine  was  lost  to  him  !  He  knew 
not  her  fate;  and  no  tidings  of  her  had  penetrated  to  him  through  the 
solitary  prison  walls.  Did  the  Queen  still  live?  Or  had  the  King  in 
his  wrath  murdered  her  on  that  very  night  when  Henry  was  carried  to 
the  Tower,  and  his  last  look  beheld  his  beloved  lying  at  her  husband's 
feet  swooning  and  rigid? 

What  had  become  of  the  Queen — of  Henry  Howard's  beloved  Geral- 
dine. He  knew  nothing  of  her:  He  had  hoped  in  vain  for  some  note,  some 
message  from  her ;  but  he  had  not  dared  to  ask  any  one  as  to  her  fate 
Perhaps  the  King  desisted  from  punishing  her  likewise.  Perhaps  his 
murderous  inclination  had  been  satisfied  by  putting  Henry  Howard  to 
death  ;  and  Catharine  escaped  the  scaffold.  It  might,  therefore,  have 
been  ruinous  to  her,  had  he,  the  condemned,  inquired  after  her.  Or  if 
she  had  gone  before  him,  then  he  was  certain  of  rinding  her  again  there 
above,  and  of  being  united  with  her  forever  and  forevermore  beyond 
the  grave. 

"He  believed  in  a  hereafter,  for  he  loved  ;  and  death  did  not  affright 
him,  for  after  death  came  the  reunion  with  her,  with  Geraldine,  who 
either  Was  already  waiting  for  him  there  above,  or  would  soon  follow 
him. 

Life  had  nothing  more  to  offer  him.  Death  united  him  to  his  be- 
loved. He  hailed  death  as  his  friend  and  saviour,  as  the  priest  who 
was  to  unite  him  to'his  Geraldine. 

He  beard  the  great  tower  clock  of  the  prison,  which  with  threatening 
stroke  made  known  the  hour;  and  each  passing  hour  he  hailed  with  a 
joyous  throb  of  the  heart.  The  evening  came  and  deep  night  descended 
upon  him. — The  last  night  that  was  allotted  to  him. — The  last  night 
that  separated  him  from  his  Geraldine. 

The  turnkey  opened  the  door  to  bring  the  Earl  a  light;  and  to  ask 
whether  he  had  any  orders  to  give.  Heretofore  it  had  been  the  King's 
special  command  not  to  allow  him  a  light  in  his  cell;  and  he  had 
spent  these  six  long  evenings  and  nights  of  his  imprisonment  in  dark- 
ness. But  to-day  they  were  willing  to  give  him  a  light ;  to-day  they 
were  willing  to  allow  him  everything  that  he  might  stili  desire.  The 
life,  whfch  he  must  leave  in  a  few  hours,  was  to  be  once  more  adorned 
for  him  with  all  charms  and  enjoyments,  which  he  mighc  ask  for.  Hen- 
ry Howard  had  but  to  wish,  and  the  jailer  was  ready  to  furnish  him 
everything. 

But  Henry  Howard  wished  for  nothing ;  he  demanded  nothing,  save 
that  they  would  leave  him  alone — save  that  they  would  remove  from 
his  prison,  this  light  which  dazzled  him,  and  which  opposed  to  his  enrap- 
turing dreams  the  disenchanting  reality. 

The  King,  who  had  wanted  to  impose  a  special  punishment  in  con- 


93 

■  » 

demning  him  to  darkies — the  King  had,  contrary  to  his  intention,  be- 
come thereby  his  benefactor.  For  with  darkness  came  dreams'  and 
phantasies.      With  the  darkness  came  Geraldine. 

When  night,  and  silence  were  all  around  him,  then  there  was  light 
within  ;  and  an  enchanting  whisper  and  a  sweet  enticing  voice  r* sounded 
within  him.  The  gates  of  his  prison  sprang  open,  and  on  the  wings  of 
thought  Henry  Howard  soared  away  from  that  dismal  and  desolate 
place.     On  the  win^s  of  thought  he  came  to  her  — to  his  Geraldine. 

Again  she.  was  by  him.  in  the  large,  silent  hall.  Again  night  lay  up- 
on them,  like  a  veil  concealing,  blessing  and  enveloping  them  ;  and 
threw  its  protection  over  their  embraces  and  their  kisses.  Solitude  al- 
lowed him  to  hear  again  the  dear  music  of  her  voice,  which  :*ang  for  him 
so  enchanting  a  melody  of  love  and  ecstacy. 

Henry  Howard  must  be  alone,  so  that  he  can  hear  his  Geraldine. 
Deep  darkness  must  surround  him,  so  that  his  Geraldine  can  come  to 
him. 

lie  demanded,  therefore,  for  his  last  night,  nothing  farther  than  to  be 
left  alone,  and  without  a  light.  The  jailer  extinguished  the  light,  and  left 
the  cell.  But  he  did  not  shove  the  great  iron  bolt  across  the  door.  He 
did  not  put  the  large  padlock  on  it,  but  he  only  left  the  door  slightly 
ajar  and  did  not  lock  it  all. 

Henry  Howard  took  no  notice  of  this.  What  cared  lie,  whether  this 
gate  was  locked  or  no — he  who  no  longer  had  a  desire  for  life  and  free- 
dom ! 

He  leant  back  on  his  seat,  and  dreamed  with  eyes  opp^i.  There  be- 
low in  the  yard,  they  were  working  on  the  scaffold  which  Henry  Howard 
Mas  to  ascend  as  soon  as  day  dawned.  The  dull  monotony  of  the  strokes 
of  the  hammers  fell  on  his  ear.  Now  and  then  the  torches,  which  light- 
ed the  workmen  at  their  melancholy  task,  allowed  to  shine  up  into  his 
cell  a  pale  glimmer  of  light,  which  danced  on  the  walls  in  ghost  like 
shapes. ' 

Ttere  are  the  ghosts  of  all  those  whom  Henry  has  put  to  death, 
thought  Henry  Howard  ;  they  gather  around  me,  like  will-.o'  the  wisps  ; 
they  dance  with  me  the  dance  of  death,  and  in  a  few  hours  I  shall  be  for- 
ever theirs. 

The  dull  noise  of  hammers  and  saws  continued  steadily  on  ;  and  Hen- 
ry Howard  sunk  deeper  and  deeper  in  revery. 

He  thought,  he  felt,  and  desired  nothing  but  Geraldine.  His  whole 
soul  was  concentrated  in  that  single  thought  of  her.  It.  seemed  to  him 
that  he  could  bid  his  spirit  see  her,  aa  though  he  could  command  his 
senses  to  perceive  her.  Yes,  she  was  there  ;  he  felt — he  was  conscious  of 
her  presence.  Again  he  lay  at  her  feet,  and  leant  his  head  on  her  knee, 
and  listened  again  to  those  charming  revelations  of  her  love. 

Completely  borne  away  from  the  present,  and  frOm  existence,  he  saw, 
he  felt,  only  her.  The  mystery  of  love  was  perfected,  and  under  the 
veil  of  night,  Geraldine  had  again  winged  her  way  t"  him,  and  he  to  her. 

A  happy  smile  played   about  his  lips,  which  faltered  forth  rapturous 


94 

•words  of  greeting.  Overcome  by  a  wonderful  hallucination,  he  saw  hig 
beloved  approaching  him;  he  stretched  out  his  arms  to  clasp  her;  and 
it  did  not  arouse  him  when  he  felt  instead  of  her  only  the  empty  air. 

W'hv  do  \ou  float  away  from  me  again,  Geraldine?  asked  he  in  a  low 
tone.  Wherefore  do  you  withdraw  from  my  arms,  to  whirl  with  the 
will-o'-the-wisps  in  the  death-dance?  Come,  Geraldine,  come;  my  soul 
burns  for  you.  My  heart  calls  you  with  its  last  faltering  throb.  ,  Come, 
Geraldine,  oh,  come. 

What  was  that?  It  was  as  though  the  door  was  gently  opened,  and 
the  latch  again  gently  fastened.  It  was  as  though  a  foot  was  moving  softly 
over  the  floor — as  though  the  shape  of  a  human  form  shaded  for  a  mo- 
ment the  flickering  light  which  danced  around  the  walls. 

Henry  Howard  saw  it  not. 

He  saw  naught  but  his  Geraldine,  whom  he  with  so  much  fervency 
and  longing  wished  by  his  side.  He  spread  his  arms;  he  called  her 
with  all. the  ardor,  all  the  enthusiasm  of  a  lover. 

Now  he  uttered  a  cry  of  ecstacy.  His  prayer  of  love  was  answered. 
The  dream  had  become  a  reality.  His  arms  no  longer  clasped  the 
empty  air ;  they  pressed  to  his  breast  the  woman  whom  he  loved,  and 
for  whom  he  was  to  die. 

He  pressed  his  lips  to  her  mouth  and  he  returned  her  kisses.  He 
threw  his  arms  around  her  form,  and  she  pressed  him  fast,  fast  to  her 
bosom. 

"Was  this  a  reality  ?  Or  was  it  madness  that  was  creeping  upon  him 
and  seizing  upon  his  brain,  aud  deceiving  him  with  phantasies  so  en- 
chanting ? 

Henry  Howard  shuddered  as  he  thought  this,  and  falling  upon  his 
knees,  he  cried  in  a  voice  trembling  with  agony  and  love :  Geraldine, 
have  pity  on  me !  Tell  me,  that  this  is  no  dream,  that  I  am  not  mad. 
That  you  are  really — you  are  Geraldine — you — the  King's  consort,  whose 
knees  I  now  clasp  !     Speak,  oh,  speak,  my  Geraldine.     , 

I  am  she !  softly  whispered  she.  I  am  Geraldine — am  the  v*>man 
whom  you  love,  and  to  whom  you  have  sworn  eternal  truth  and  eternal 
love !  Henry  Howard,  my  beloved,  I  now  remind  you  of  your  oath  ! 
Your  life,  belongs  to  me.  This  you  have  vowed,  and  I  now  come  to  de- 
mand of  you  that  which  is  my  own ! 

Aye,  my  life  belongs  to  you,  Geraldine  !  But  it  is  a  miserable,  me- 
lancholy possession,  which  you  will  call  yours  only  a  few  hours  longer! 

She  threw  her  arms  closely  around  his  neck  ;  she  raised  him  to  her 
heart ;  she  kissed  his  mouth,  his  eyes.  He  felt  her  tears,  which  trickled 
like  hot  fountains  over  his  face;  he  heard  her  sighs,  which  struggled 
from  her  breast  like  death  groans. 

You  must  not  die!  murmured  she  amid  her  tears.  No,  Henry,  you 
must  live,  so  that  I  too  can  li^e  ;  so  that  I  shall  rot  become  mad  from 
agony  and  sorrow  for  you  !  My  God,  my  God,  do  you  not  then  feel 
how  I  love  you?  Know  you  not  then,  that  your  life  is  my  life,  and 
your  death  my  death? 


05 

He  leant  his  head  on  her  shoulder,  and,  wholly  intoxicated  with  hap. 
pin^ss,  he  scarcely  heard  what  she.  was  speaking. 

She  was  again  there  !      What  cared  he  for  all  the.  rest? 

Geraldine.  softly  whispered  he,  do  you  recollect  still  how  we  first  inel. 
each  other  J  How  our  hearts  were  united  in  one  throb,  how  our  lips 
clung  to  each  other. in  one  kiss?  Geraldine,  my  wife,  my  loved  one, 
we  then  swore  that  naught  could  separate  us,  that  our  love  should  sur- 
vive the  grave  !     Geraldine,  do  you  remember  that  still? 

I  remember' it,  my  Henry  !  But  you  shall  not  die  yet;  and  not  in 
death,  but  in  life,  shall  your  love  for  me  be  proved  !  .Aye,  we  will  live, 
live, !  And  your  life  shall  he  my  life,  and  where  yon  are,  there  will  I  be 
also!  Henry,  do  you  remember,  that  you  vowed  this  to  me  with  a 
solemn  oath  ? 

I  rememher  it,  but  1  cannot  keep  my  word,  my  Geraldine !  Hear 
you  how  they  are  sawing  and  hammering  there  below?  Know  you 
what  that  indicates,  dearest? 

1  know  it,  Henry  !  It  js  the  scaffold  that  they  are  building  there  be- 
low. The  scaffold  for  you  and  me.  For  1  too  will  die  if  yon  will  not 
live;  and  the  axe  that  seeks  your  neck,  shall  find  mine  also,  if  you 
wish  not  that  we  both  live  ! 

Do  1  wi-h  it!     But  how  can  we,  beloved? 

We  can  !  Henry,  we  can  !  All  is  ready  tor  the  flight !  It  is  all  ar- 
ranged, everything  prepared  !  The  King's  signet-ring  has  opened  to  me 
the  gates  of  the  prison;  the  omnipotence  of  gold  has  won  over  your  jail- 
er. He  will  not  see  it,  when  two  persons  instead  of  one  leave  this  dun- 
geon. Unmolested  and  without  hindcrance,  we  will  both  leave  the  Tow- 
er by  ways  known  only  to  him,  over  secret  corridors  and  staircases, 
and  will  go  aboard  a  boat  which  is  ready  to  take  us  to  a  ship,  which 
lies  in  the  harbor  prepared  to  sail,  and  which,  as  soon  as  we  are  aboard, 
weighs  anchor  and  puts  to  sea  with  us.  Come,  Henry,  come !  Lay 
your  arm  in  mine,  and  let  us  leave  this  prison  ! 

She  threw  both  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and  drew  him  forwards. 
He  pressed  her  fast  to  his  heart  and  whispered  :  Yes,  come,  come,  my 
beloved.      Let  us  fly  !     To  you  belongs  my  life,  you  alone  ! 

lie  raised  her  up  in  his  arms,  and  hastened  with  her  to  the  door.  Ho 
pushed  it  hastily  open  with  his  foot  and  hurried  forwards  down  the  cor 
ridor  Hut  having  arrived  just  at  the  first  turn  of  the  same,  he  reeled 
back  in  horror. 

Before  the  door  were,  standing  soldiers  with  shouldered  arms.  There 
stood  also  the  Lieutenant  of  the  Tower,  and  two  servants  behind  him 
with  lighted  candles. 

Geraldine  gave  a  scream  and  with  anxious  haste  rearranged  the  thick 
veil  that  had  slipped  from  her  head. 

Henry  Howard  also  had  uttered  a  cry,  but  not  on  account  of  the  sol- 
diers, and  the  frustrated  flight. 

His  eyes,  stretched  wide  open,  stared  at  this  figure  at  his  side,  now 
so  closely  veiled. 


It  seemed  to  him,  as  though  like  a  spectre  a  strange  face  had  risen  up 
close  by  him — as  ihough  it  was  not  the  beloved  head  of  the  Queen,  that 
rested  there  on  his  shoulder.  He  had  seen  this  face  only  as  a  vision,  as 
the  fantasy  of  a  dream  ;  but  he  knew  with  perfect  certainty  that  it  was 
not  her  countenance,  not  the  countenance  of  his  Geraldine. 

The  Lieutenant  of  the  Tower  motioned  to  his  servants,  and  they  car- 
ried the  lighted  candles  into  the  Eail's  cell. 

Then  he  gave  Henry  Howard  his  hand  aod  silently  led  him  back  into 
the  prison. 

Henry  Howard  exhibited  no  reluctance  to  follow  him ;  but  his  hand 
had  seized  Geraldine's  arm,  and  he  drew  her  along  with  him;  his  eye 
rested  on  her  with  a  penetratiug  expression,  and  seemed  to  threaten  her. 

They  .were  now  again  in  the  room,  which  they  had  before  left  with 
such  blessed  hopes. 

The  Lieutenant  of  the  Tower  motioned  to  the  servants  to  retire,  then 
turned  with  solemn  earnestness  to  Earl  Surrey. 

My  Lord,  said  he,  it  is  at  the  King's  command,  that  1  bring  you  these 
lights.  His  Majesty  knows  all  that  has  happened  here  this  night.  He 
knew  that  a  plot  was  formed  to  rescue  you ;  and  while  they  believed 
they  were  deceiving  him,  the  plotters  themselves  were  deceived.  They 
had  succeeded  under  various  artful  false  pretences  in  influencing  the 
King  to  give  his  signet-ring  to  one  of  his  lords.  But  his  Majesty  was 
already  warned,  and  he  already  knew  that  it  was  not  a  man,  as  they 
wanted  to  make  him  believe,  but  a  woman,  who  came,  not  to  take  leave 
of  you,  but  to  deliver  you  from  prison.  My  Lady,  the  jailer,  whom  you 
imagined  that  you  had  bribed,  was  a  faithful  servant  of  the  King.  He 
betrayed  your  plot  to  me ;  and  it  was  1  who  ordered  him  to  make  a 
show  of  favoring  your  deed.  You  will  not  be  able  to  release  Earl  Sur- 
rey ;  but  if  such  is  your  command,  I  will  myself  see  you  to  the  ship 
that  lies  in  the  harbor  for  you  ready  to  sail.  No  one  will  hinder  you, 
my  Lady,  from  embarking  on  it ;  Earl  Surrey  is  not  permitted  to  ac- 
company you  ! — My  Lord,  soon  the  night  is  at  an  end,  and  you  know 
that  it  will  be  your  last  night.  The  King  has  ordered,  that  1  am  not  to 
prevent  this  Lady,  if  she  wishes  to  spend  this  night  with  you  in  your 
room.  But  she  is  allowed  to  do  so  only  on  the  condition  that  the  lights 
in  your  room  remain  burning.  That  is  the  King's  express  will,  and 
these  are  his  own_words  :  Tell  Earl  Surrey  that  1  allow  him  to  love  his 
Geraldine,  but  that  he  is  to  open  his  eyes  to  see  her  ! — That  he  may 
see,  you  will  give  him  a  light ;  aud  I  command  him  not  to  extinguish 
it  so  long  as  Geraldine  is  with  him.  Otherwise  he  may  confound  her 
wi^h  another  woman  ;  for  in  the  dark  one  cannot  distinguish  even  a  har- 
lequin from  a  queen  ! — You  have  now  to  decide,  my  Lord,  whether  this 
lady  remains  with  you,  or  whether  she  goes,  and  the  light  shall  be  put 
out! 

She  shall  remain  with  me,  and  I  very  much  need  the  light !  said  Earl 
Surrey  ;  and  his  penetrating  look  rested  steadily  on  the  veiled  figure, 
which  shook  at  his  words,  as  if  in  an  ague. 


,      97 

Have  you  any  other  wish,  besides  this,  my  Lord? 

None,  save  that  I  may  be  loft  alone  with  her. 

The  Lieutenant  bowed  and  left  the  room. 

They  were  now  alone  again,  and  stood  confronting  each,  other  in  silence. 
Naught  was  heard  but  the  beating  of  their  hearts,  and  the  sighs  of  an- 
guish that  burst  from  Gerald ine's  trembling  lip?. 

It  was  an  awful,  a  terrible  pause.  Gerurldine  would  have  gladly  given 
her  life  could  she  thereby  have  extinguished  the  light  and  veiled  herself 
in  impenetrable  darkness. 

But  the  Earl  would  see.  With  an  angry,  haughty  look,  he  stepped 
up  to  her,  and  as  with  commanding  geslure  he  raised  his  arm,  Geral 
dine  shuddered  and  submissive  I)  bowed,  her  head. 

Unveil  your  face  !  said  he  in  a  tone  of  command. 

She  did  not  stir.  She  murmure  1  a  prayer,  then  raised  her  clasped 
hands  to  Henry  and  in  a  low  moan,  said  :   Mercy  !   mercy  ! 

He  extended  his  hand  and  seized  the  veil. 

Mercy  !  repeated  ehe  in  a  voice  of  still  deeper  supplication — of  still 
greater  distress. 

But  he  was  inexorable.  He  lore  the  veil  from  her  face,  and  stared  at 
her.  Then  with  a  wild  shriek  he  reeled  back  and  covered  his  face  with 
his  hands. 

Jane  Douglas  durst  not  breathe,  or  stir.  She  was  pale  as  marble  ; 
her  large  burning  eyes  were  fastened  with  an  unutterable  expression  of 
entreaty  upon  her  lover,  who  stood  before  h"i\  with  covered  head,  and 
crushed  with  anguish.  She  loved  him  more  than  her  life,  more  than  her 
eternal  salvation  ;  and  yet  she  it  was  that  had  brought  him  to  this  hour 
of  agony. 

At  length  Earl  Surrey  let  his  hands  fall  from  his  face,  and  with  a 
fierce  movement  dashed  the  tears  from  his  eyes. 

As  he  looked  at  her,  Jane  Douglas  wholly  involuntarily  sunk  upon 
her  knees,  aud  raised  her  hands  imploringly  to  him.  Henry  Howard, 
said  she  in  a  low  whisper:  I  am  she  I  am  Geraldine  !  Me  have  you 
loved;  my  letters  have  you  read  with  ecstacy,  and  to  me  have  you 
often  sworn,  that  you  loved  my  mind  yet  more  than  my  appearance. 
And  often  has  my  heart  been  filled  with  rapture,  when  you  told  mo 
you  would  love  me  however  rnj  face  might  change,  however  old 
or  sickne-s  might  alter  my  features.  i  ou  remember,  Henry,  how  I 
once  asked  you  whether  you  would  cease  to  love  me,  if  now  God  sud- 
denly put  a  mask  before  my  face,  so  thai  you  could  not  recognise  my 
features  1  You  replied  to  me:  "  Nevertheless,  1  should  love  and  adore 
you  ;  for  what  in  you  ravi>i  not  yom  face,  bul  you  yourself — 

yourself  with  your  glorious  I  Datura     It  is  your  soul  and  your 

heart,   which  can  n<  hich    lie    I  oly  book, 

clear  and  bright!"     That  wag  you/    reply  I  you  swore  tr> 

love  me  eternally.     Henry  Howard     I    now  remind  you  of  yi  ur  oath! 
I  am  your  Geraldine.     ft  is  ,  the    sum 

has  put  a  mask  upon  mj  f« 


98 

Earl  Surrey  had  listened  to  her  with  eagej  attention,  with  increasing 
amazement. 

It  is  she  !     It  is  really  !  cried  he,  as  she  ceased.     It  is  Geraldine  ! 

And  wholly  overcome,  wholly  speechless  with  anguish,  he  sank  into 
a  seat. 

Gerald*rae  flew  to  him  ;  she  crouched  at  his  feet ;  she  seized  his  droop- 
ing hand  and  covered  it  with  kisses.  And  amid  streaming  tears,  often 
interrupted  by  her  sighs  and  her  sobs,  she  recounted  to  him  the  sad  and 
unhappy  history  of  her  love;  she  unveiled  before  him  the  whole  web 
of  cunning  and  deceit,  that,  her  father  had  drawn  around  them  both. 
She  laid  her  whole  heart  open  and  unveiled  before  him.  She  told  him 
of  her  1©t«,  of  her  agonies,  of  her  ambition  and  her  remorse.  She  ac- 
cused herself;  but  she  plead  her  love  as  an  excuse,  and  with  streaming 
tears  clinging  to  his  knees,  she  implored  him  for  pity,  for  forgiveness. 

He  thrust  her  violently  from  him  and  stood  up  in  order  to  escape 
her  touch.  His  noble  countenance  glowed  with  anger  ;  his  eyes  parted 
lightning  ;  his  long  flowing  hair  shaded  his  lofty  brow  and  his  face,  like 
a  sombre  veil.  He  was  beautiful  in  his  wrath,  beautiful  as  the  angel 
Michael  trampling  the  dragon  beneath  his  feet.  And  thus  he  bent  down 
his  head  towards  her^;  thus  he  gazed  at  her  with  flashing  and  contemp- 
tuous looks.  X 

I  forgive  you  ?  said  he.  Never  will  that  be  !  Ha,  shall  1  forgive 
you? — you,  who  have  made  my  entire  life  a  ridiculous  lie,  and  trans- 
formed  the  tragedy  of  my  love  into  a  disgusting  farce?  Oh,  Geraldine, 
how  I  have  loved  jou  ;  and  now  you  have  become  to  me  a  loathsome 
spectre,  before  which  my  soul  shudders,  and  which  I  must  execrate. 
You  have  crushed  my  life,  and  even  robbed  my  death  of  its  sanctity  ; 
for  now  it  is  no  longer  the  martyrdom  of  my  love,  but  only  the  savage 
mockery  of  my  credulous  heart.  Oh,  Geraldine,  how  beautiful  it  would 
have  been  to  die  for  you  !- — To  go  to  death  with,  your  name  upon  ray 
lips ! — To  bless  you  ! — To  thank  you  for  my  happy  lot,  as  the  axe  was 
already  uplifted  to  smite  off  my  head  !  IIow  beautiful  to  think  that 
death  does  not  separate  vis,  but  is  only  the  way  to  an  eternal  union  ; 
that  we  should  lose  each  other  but  a  brief  momeut  here,  to  find  each 
other  again  forevermore  there  above! 

Geraldine  writhed  at  his  feet  like  a  worm  trodden  upon  ;  and  her 
groans  of  distress  and  her  smothered  moans  were  the  heart  rending  ac- 
companiment of  his  melancholy  words. 

But  that  is  now  all  over !  cried  Henry  Howard  ;  and  his  face,  which 
was  before  convulsed  with  grief  and  agony,  now  glowed  again  with 
wrath.  You  have  poisoned  my  life  and  my  death  ;  and  I  shall  curse 
you  for  it,  and  my  last  word  will  be  a  malediction  on  the  harlequin 
Geraldine  ! 

•  Have  pity  !  groaned   Jane.     Kill   me,  Henry  ;  stamp  my  head  be- 
neath jour  feet ;  only  let  this  torture  end  ! 

Nay,  no  pity  !  yelled  he  wildly  ;  no  pity  for  this  imposter,  who  has 
stolen  my  heart  and  crept  like  a  thief  into  my  love'!     Arise  and  leave 


99 

this  room  ;  for  you  fill  me  with  horror ;  and  when  1  behold  you,  1  feel 
only  that  I  must  curse  you  !  Aye,  a  curse  on  you  and  shame,  Geral- 
dine.  Curse  on  the  kisses  that  I  have  impressed  on  your  lips — on  the 
tears  of  rapture  that  I  have  wept  on  your  bosom.  When  I  ascend  the 
scaflold,  1  will  curse  you,  and  my  last  word  shall  be:  Woe  to  Geral- 
dine  !     For  she  is  my  murdei^ss! 

He  stood  there  before  her  with  arm  raised  on  high,  proud  and  great 
in  his  wraih.  She  felt  the  destroying  lightning  of  his  eyes,  thoi  gh  she. 
durst  not  look  up  at  him,  but  lay  at  his  feet  moaning  and  convulsed, 
and  concealing  her  face  in  her  veil,  as  she  shuddered  at  her  own  picture. 

And  this  be  my  la^t  word  to  you,  Geraldine,  said  Henry  Howard 
pantiug  for  breath  :  Go  heucc  under  the  burthen  of  my  curse,  and  live 
— if  you  can  ! 

She  unveiled  her  head,  and  raised  her  countenance  to  him.  A  con- 
temptuous smile  writhed  about  her  deathly  pale  lips.  Live?  said  she. 
Have  we  not  sworn  to  die  with  each  other?  Y<ur  curse  does* not  re- 
lease me  from  my  oath,  and  when  you  descend  into  the  grave,  Jane 
Douglas  wiil  stand  upon  its  brink,  to  wail  and  weep  until  you  make  a 
little  place  for  her  there  below  ;  until  she  has  softened  your  heart  and*  you 
take  her  again,  as  your  Geraldine,  into  your  grave.  Oh,  Henry  !  hi 
the  grave,  1  no  longer  wear  the  face  of  Jane  Douglas — that  hated  face, 
which  I  would  tear  with  my  nails.  In  the  grave,  1  am  Geraldine  again. 
There  I  may  again  lie  close  to  your  heart,  and  again  you  will  say  lo 
1  me  :  "  I  love  not  your  face  and  your  external  form  !  1  love  you  your- 
self ;  I  love  your  heart  and  mind  ;  and  that  can  never  change,  and  can 
never  be  otherwise  V* 

Silence  !  said  he  toughly  ;  silence,  if  you  do  not  want  me  to  run  mad  ! 
Cast  not  my  own  words  in.  my  face.  They  defile  me,  for  falsehood  has 
desecrated  tnem  and  trodden  them  in  the  mire.  No  !  I  will  not  make 
room  for  you  i.i  my  grave.  I  will  not  again  call  you  Geraldine.  Y  >u 
are  Jane  Douglas,  and  I  hate  you.  and  1  hurl  my  curse  on  your  criminal 
head  !     I  tell  you 

He  suddenly  paused,  and  a  slight,  convulsion  ran  through  his  whole 
frame. 

Jane  Douglas  uttered  a  piercing  scream  and  sprang  from  hor  knees. 
*  Day  had  biokcn  ;  and  from  the  prison  tower  sounded  the  dismal, 
plaintive  stroke  of  the  death-bell. 

Do  you  bear,  Jane  Douglas  1  said  Surrey.  That  bell  bum  moos  me 
to  death.  You  it  is  that  has  poisoned  my  last  hour.  I  was  h:ippy, 
when  I  loved  you.     I  die  in  despair,  for  I  despise  and  hate  you. 

No,  no,  you  dare  not  die!  cried  she.  clinging  t<»  him  with  passionate 
anguish  You  dare  do(  go  to  the  grave  with  that  tierce  curse  upon  your 
lips.  I  cannot  be  your  murderess.  '  >h.  i'  isnot  possible  thai  Chej  will 
put  you  to  death — you,  the  beautiful,  the  noble  and  virtuous  Eirl  Sur- 
rey. My  God,  what  have  you  doi  ••  I  i  i  \  ite  their  wrath  1  You  are 
innocent;  and  'hey  know  i\     They  CM  ite  you  ;  for   it   would 

be  murder!     You  have  committed  uo  offence ;  you  have  been  guilty  of 


100 

nothing;  ho  crime  attaches  to  your  noble   person.     It  is  indeed  no 
crime  to  loVe  Jane  Douglas,  and  me  have  you  loved — me  alone. 

No,  not  you,  said  he  proudly  ;  1  have  nothing  to  do  with  Lady  Jane 
Douglas.  I  loved  the  Queen,  and  I  believed  she  returned  my  love.  That 
is  my  crime. 

The  door  opened  ;  and  in  solemn  silence  the  Lieutenant  of  the  Tower 
entered  with  the  priests  and  his  assistants.  In  the  door  was  seen  the 
bright  red  dress  of  the  headsman,  who  was  standing  upon  the  threshold 
with  face  calm  "and  unmoved". 

It  is  time  !  solemnly  said  the  Lieutensffi^. 

The  pri«st  mutteued  his  prayers,  and,  the  assistants  s\^ung  their  cen 
sers. ,  Without,  the  death-bell  kept  up  its  wail;  and  from  the  court 
was  heard  the  hum  of  the  mob,  which,  cujious  and  blood  thirsty  as  it 
ever  is,  had  streamed  hither  to  behold  with  laughing  mouth  the  blood 
of  the  man  who  but  yesterday  was  its  favorite. 

Earl  Surrey  .stood  there  a  moment  in  silence.  His  features  worked 
and  were  convulsed,  and  a  death-like  pallor  covered  his  cheeks. 

lie  trembled  not  at  death,  but  at  dying.     It  seemed   to  him,  that  he 
already  felt  on  his  neck  the  cold  broad-axe  which  that  frightful  man   . 
there  held  in  his  hand.     Oh,  to  die  on  the'  battle-field— what  a  boon  it 
would  have  been  !  .  To  come  to  an  end  on  the  scaffold — what  a  disgrace 
was  this ! 

Henry  Howard,  my  son,  are  you  prepared  to  die?  asked  the  priest.  ^ 
Have  you   made  your  peace  with  God1?     Do  you   repent  you  of  your 
sins,  and  do  you  acknowledge  death  as  a  righteous  expiation  and  punish- 
ment?    Do  you  forgive  your  enemies,  and  depart  hence  at  peace  with 
yourself  and  with  mankind? 

I  am  prepared  to  die,  said  Surrey  with  a  proud  smile  ;  the  other  ques- 
tions, my  father,  I  will  answer  to  my  God  there  above. 

Do  you  confess  that  you  were  a  wicked  traitor  ?  And  do  you  beg  the 
forgiveness  of  your  noble  and  righteous,  your  exalted  and  good  King  for 
the  blasphemous  injury  to  his  sacred  Majesty  ? 

Earl  Surrey  looked  him  steadily  in  the  eye.  Do  you  know  what 
crime  I  am  accused  of? 

The  priest  cast  down  his  eyes  and  muttered  a  few  unintelligible  words. 

With  a  haughty  movement  of  the  head,  Henry  Howard  turned  from 
the  priest  to  the  Lieutenant  of  the  Tower. 

Do  you  know  my  crime,  my  Lord  ?  said  he. 

But  the  Lord  Lieutenant  also  dropped,  his  eyes,  and  remained   stlent. 

Henry  Howard -smiled.  Well  now,  I  will  tell  you;  I  have  as  it  be- 
comes me,  as  the  sdh  of  my  father,  borne  the  arms  of  our  house  on  my 
shield  and  over  the  entrance  to  my  palace,  and  it  has  been  discovered 
that  the  King  bears  the  same  arms  that  we  do.  That  is  my  high  trea- 
son !  I  have  said  that  the  King  is  deceived  in  many  of  his  servants,  and 
often  promotes  his  favorites  to  high  honors  which  they  do  not  deserve. 
That  is  raj  offence  ogainst  his  Majesty  ;  and  it  is  that  for  which  1  shall 


101 

lay  my  head  upon  the  block.*  But  make  yourselves  easy  ;  I  shall  rrty> 
self  add  to  my  crimes  one  more,  so  that  they  may  be  grievous  enough 
tu  make  the  conscience  of  the  righteous  and  generous  King  quirt.  1  have 
given  up  ray  heart  to  a  wretched  and  criminal  love,  and  the  Geraldine, 
whom  I  have  sung  in  many  a  poem  and  have  celebrated  even  before  the 
King,  was  nothing  but  a  miserable  coquettish  strumpet ! 

■Jane  Douglas  gave,  a  scream,  and  sunk  upon  the.  ground  as  if  struck 
by  lightning.         • 

Do  you  repent  of  this  sin,  my  son?  asked  the  priest.  Do  you  turn 
your  heart  away  from  this  sinful  love,  in  order  to  turn  it  to  God? 

I  not  only  repent  of  this  love,  but  I  execrate  it!  and  now,  my  father, 
let  us  go ;  for 'you  see  indeed  my  Lord  is  becoming  impatient. — Me 
bears  in  mind  that  the  King  will  find  no  rest  until  the  .Howards  also 
have  gone  to  rest.  Ah,  King  Henry  !  King  Henry  !  Thoa  callest  thy-, 
self  the  mighty  King  of  the  world,  and. yet  thou  tremblest  before-  1  he 
arms  of  thy  subject!  My  Lord,  if  you  go  to  the  King  to-.day,  give  him 
Henry  Howard's  greeting  ;  and  tell  him,  I  wish  his  bed  may  be  as  easy 
to  him,  as  the  grave  will  be  to  me.     Now  come,  my  Lords.     It  is  time. 

With  head  proudly  erect  and  calm  step  he  turned  to  the  door.  But 
now  Jane  Douglas  sprang  from  the  ground  ;  now*  she  rushed  to  Henry 
Howard  aud  clung  to  him  with  all  the  might  of  her  passion  and  agony. 
I  have  you  not !  cried  she  breathless  and  pale  as  death.  You  dare  not 
repulse  me,  for  you  have  sworn  that  we  shall  live  and  die  together. 

He  he  I  d  her  from  him  in  fierce  wrath,  and  drew  himself  up  before 
her,  loft)  and  threatening. 

1  forbid  you  to  follow  me  !  cried  he  in  a  tone  of  command.  'She  reel- 
ed back  against  the  wall. and  looked  at  him,  trembling  and  breathless. 

He  was  still  lord  over  her  soul  •,  she  was  still  subject  to  him  in  love 
and  obedience.  She  could  not  therefore  summon  up  courage  to  defv  his 
command. 

She  beheld  as  he  left  the  room  and  passed  down  the  corridor  with  his 
dreadful  train  ;  she  heard  their  footsteps  gradually  die  away  ;  and  then 
'enly  in  the  yard  below  sounded  the  hollow  roll  of  the  drum. 

Jane  Douglas  fell  on  her  knees  to  pr-iy,  but  her  lips  trembled  so  much 
that  she  could  find  no  words  for  her  prayer. 

The  roll  of  the  drum  ceased  in  the  court  below,  and  only  the  death- 
bell  still  continued  to  wail  and  wail.  She  heard  a  voice  speaking  loud 
and  powerful  words 

It  was  his  voice ;  it  was  Henry  Howard  that  was  speaking.     And  now 
n  the  hollow  roll  of  the  drums  whifch  drowned  his  voi 

II"  die>  !  He  dies,  and  I  am  not  with  him  !  cried  she  with  a  shriek  ; 
and  she  gathered  herself  up,  and  «s  if  borne  by  a  whirlwind  she  dashed 
out  of  the  room,  through  the  corridor,  and  down  the  stairs. 

There  she  sto  id  in  the  court.  That  drralful  black  pile  above  there, 
in  the   midst  of  this  square   crowded    with   men — that  was  the  scaffold. 

•v>.  two  inglimiflcant  accusations  were  the  only  points  that  could  l><-  r 
of  Surrey.    Upon  these  charges,  brought  by  his  mother  aud  lister,  he  was  executed— Tj  tier,  pare 
4M;  Burnet,  to1,1,  page  T5;  Leti,  vol  1,  pa;- 


10* 

Y wider  above  she  beheld  him  prostrate  ou  his  knees.     She  beheld  the 
axe  in  the  headsman's  hand  ;  she  saw  him  raise  it  for  the  fatal  stroke. 

'She  was  a  woman  no, longer,  but  a  lioness !  Not  a  drop  of  blood  was 
in  her  cheeks.  Her  nostrils  were  expanded  and  her  eyes  darted  light- 
ning. 

She  drew  out  a  dagger  that  she  had  concealed  in  her  bosom,  and.  made 
ji  path  through  the  amazed,  frighted,  yielding  crowd. 

With  one  spring  «h  •  had  rushed  up  the  steps  of  the  feaflbld.  She  now 
stood  by  him*' on  the  top  of  i' — clpse  by  that  kneeling  figure. 

There  >vas  a  flash  through  the  air.  She  heard  a  peculiar  whiz — then  a 
hollow  blow.  A  red  vapor  like  streak  of  blood  spurted  up,  and  covered 
Jane  Douglas  with  its  crimson  flood. 

1  come,  Henry,  I  come  !  cried  she  with  a  wild  shout.  I  shall  be  with 
thee  in  death ! 

And  again  there  was  a  flash  through  the  air.  It  was  the  dagger  that 
Jane  Douglas  plunged  into  her  heart. 

She.  had  struck  well.  No  sound — no  groan  burst  from  her  lips.  With 
■a  proud  smile  she  sank  by  her  lover's  headless  corpse,  and  with  a  last 
dying  effort  she  said  to  the  horrified  headsman  :  Let  me  share  his  grave  ! 
Henry  Howard,  in  life  and  in  death  I  am  with  thee  ! 


CHAPTER  XII. 

NEW    INTRIGUER. 

Henry  Howard  was  dead ;  and  now  one  would  have  thought  the 
King  might  be  satisfied  and  quiet,  and  that  sleep  would  no  longer  flee 
from  his  eyelids,  since  Henry  Howard,  his  great  rival,  had  closed  his 
eyes  forever;  since  Henry  Howard  was  no  longer  there,  to  steal  away 
his  crown,  to  fill^the  world  with  the  glory  of  his  deeds,  to  dim  the  ge- 
nius of  the  King  by  his  own  fame  as  a  poet. 

But  the  King  was  still  dissatisfied.     Sleep  still  fled  from  his  couch. 

The  cause%of  this  was,  that  his  work  was  only  just  half  done.  Henry 
Howard's  father,  the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  still  lived.  The  cause  of  this 
was,  that  the  King  was  always  obliged  to  think  of  this  powerful  rival ; 
and  these  thoughts  chased  sleep  from  his  eyelids.  His  soul  was  sick  of 
the  Howards  ;  therefore  his  body  suffered  such  terrible  pains. 

If  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  would  close  his  eyes  in  death,  then  would  the 
King  also  be  able  to  close  his  again  in  refreshing  sleep  !  But  this  Court 
Of  Peers — and  only  by  such  a  Court  cduld  the  Duke  be  judged — this  Court 
of  Peers  was  so  slow  and  deliberate  !     It  worked  by  far  less  rapidly,  and 


102 

was  not  near  so  serviceable,  as  the  Parliament  which  had  so  quickly  con- 
demned Henry  Howard.  Why  must  the  old  Howard  bear  a  ducal  ti- 
tle !  Why  \\ms  be  riot  like  his  son,  only  an  Earl,  so  that  the  obedient  Par- 
liament might  condemn  him  ! 

That  was  the  King's  inextinguishable  grief,  his  gnawing  pain,  which 
made  him  raving  with  fury  and  heated  his  blood,  and  thereby  increased 
the  pains  of  his  body. 

He  raved  and  roared  with  impatience.  Through  the  halls  of  his  pal- 
ace resounded  his  savage  vituperation,  It  made  every  one  tremble  and 
quake,  for  no  one  was  sure  thai  it  was  not  he  that  was  to  fall  that  day  a 
victim  to  the  King's  fury.  No  one  could  know  whether  the  King's  ever 
increasing  thirst  for  blood  would  not  that  day  doom  him. 

With  the  most  jealous  strictness  the  King,  from  his  sick  coach,  watch- 
ed over,  his  royal  dignity  ;  and  the  least  fault  against  that,  might  arouse 
his  wrath  and  blood-thirstiness.  Woe  to  those  who  wanted  to  still 
maintain  that  the  Pope  was  He«d  of  the  Church  !  Woe  to  those  who  ven- 
tured to  call  God  the  only  Lord  of  the  Church,  and  honored  not  the  King 
as  the  Church's  holy  protector !  The  one,  like  the  other,  were  traitors 
and  sinners,  and  he.  had  Protestants  and  Roman  Catholics  alike  execu- 
ted, however  mar  they  stood  to  his  own  person,  and  however  closely  ho 
was  otherwise  bound  to  them. 

Whoever,  therefore,  could  avoid  it.  kept  himself  far  from  the  dreaded 
person  oi  the  King;  and  whoever  was  constrained  by  duty  to  be  near 
him,  trei    I  led  for  his  life,  and  commended  his  soul  to  God. 

There  were  only  four  persons  who  did  not  fear  the  King,  and  who 
seemed  to  be  safe  from  his  destroying  wrath.  There  was  the  Queen 
who  nursed  him  with  devoted  attention,  and  John  Hey  wood  who  with 
untiring  zeal  sustained  Catharine  in  her  difficult  task,  and  who  still  some- 
times  succeeded  in  winning  a  smile  from  the  King.  There  were  further- 
more, Gardiner,  Bishop  of  Winchester,  and  Earl  Douglas. 

Lady  Jane  Douglas  was  dead.  The  King  had  therefore  forgiven  her 
father,  and  again  shown  himself  gracious  and  friendly  to  the  deeply  bow- 
ed Earl.  Besides  it  was  such  an  agreeable  and  refreshing  feeling  to  the 
suffering  King,  to  Jiave  some  one  about  him  who  suffered  yet  more  than 
he  himself.  Jt  comforted  him  to  know  that^here  could  bo  agonies  yet 
more  horrible  than  those  pains  of  the  body  under  which  he  languished. 
Earl  Douglas  suffered  these  agonies  ;  and  the  King  saw  with  a  kind  of 
delight,  how  his  hair  turned  daily  more  grey,  and  his  features  became 
more  relaxed  and  feeble.  Douglu«  was  younger  than  the  Kin*,  and  yet 
how  old  and  grey  his  face  was  beside  the  King's  well  led  and  blooming 
pountenai  ce  ! 

Could  the  King  have  seen  the  bottom  of  his  soul,  he  would  have  had 
Leas  sympathy  with  Eail  Douglas'  sorrow. 

He  considered  him  only  as  a  tender  father  mourning  the  death  of  his 
only  child.  He  did  not  suspect  that  it  was  less  the  father,  that  Jane's 
painful  death  had  smitten,  than  the  ambitious  man,  the  fanatical  Roman 
Catholic,  toe  en thu  if -If  of  Loyola,  who  with  dismay  saw  all 


i  u4 

his  plans  frustrated,  and  the  moment  drawing  nigh,  when  he  would  be  di- 
vested  of  that  power  and  consideration  which  he  enjoyed  in  the  secret 
league  of  the  disciples  of  Jesus. 

Wi'h  him,  therefore,  it- was  less  the  daughter,  for  whom  he  mourned, 
thau  the  King's  seventh  wife.  And  that  Catherine  wore  the  crown,  and 
not  his  daughter — not  June  Doug!;;.^ — this  it  was,  that  he  could  never 
ibrgive  the  Queen.  \ 

He  wauted  to  take  vengeance  <m  the  Queen  for  Jane's  death ;  he 
wanted  to  punish  Catharine  for  his  frustrated  hopes,  for  his  desires  that 
she  had  trampled  npon. 

But  Earl  Douglas  durst  not  himself  venture  to  make  another  attempt 
to  prejudice  the  Kind's  mind  against  his  consort.  Henry  had  interdicted 
him  fiom  it  under  the  penalty  of  his  wrath.  With  words  of  threatening, 
he  had  warned  him  from  such  an  attempt;  and  Earl  Douglas  very  well 
knew  that  King  Henry  was  inflexible  in  his  determination,  when  the 
matter  under  consideration  was  the  execution  of  a  threatened  punishment. 

Yet  ^'hat  Douglas  .durst  not  venture,  that  Gardiner  could  venture. 
Gardiner — who,  thanks  to  the  capiioion^ness  of  the  sick  King,  had  for  the 
few  days  past  enjoyed  again  the  royal  favor  so  unreservedly,  that  the 
noble  Archbishop  Cranmer  had  received  orders  to  leave  the  Court  and 
retire  to  his  Episcopal  residence  at  Lambeth. 

Catharine  had  seen  him  depart  with  anxious  forebodings  ;  for  Cranmer 
had  ever  been  her  friend- and  support.  His  mild  and  serene  counten- 
ance had  ever  been  to  her  like  a  star  of  peace  in  the  midst  of  this  tem- 
pest tossed  and  passion  lashed  Court  life;  and  his"  gentle  and  noble  wol'ds 
had  always  fallen  like  a  soothing  balm  on  her  poor  trembling  heart. 

She  felt  that  with  his  departure  she  lost  her  noblest  support,  her 
strencthenu.u;  aid,  and  that  she  was  now  surrounded  only  by  enemies 
and  opponents.  True,  she  still  had  John  Hey  wood,  the  faithful  friend, 
the  indefatigable  servant;  but  since  Gardiner  had  exercised  his  sinister 
influence  over  the  King's  mind,  John  Hey  wood  durst  scarcely  risk  him- 
self in  Henry's  presence.  True,  she  had  also  Thomas  Seymour,  her 
lover;  but  she  knew  and  felt  that  she  was  everywhere  surrounded  by 
spies  and  eavesdroppers,  and  that  now  it  required  nothing  more.than  an 
interview  with  Thomas  Seymour — a  few  tender  words — perchance  even 
only  a  look  full  of  mutual  understanding  and  love,  in  order  to  send  him 
and  her  to  the  scaffold. 

She  trembled  not  for  herself,  but  for  her  lover.  That  made  her  cau- 
tious and  thoughtful.'  That  gave  her  courage  never  to  show  Thomas 
Seymour  other  than  a  cold,  serious  face ;  never  to  meet  him  otherwise 
than  in  the  circle  of  her  Court;  never  to  smile  on  him  ;  never  to  give 
him  her  hand 

She  was  however  certain  of  her  future.  She  knew  that  a  day  would 
come,  on  which  the  King's  death  would  deliver  her  from  her  burdensome 
grandeur  and  her  painful  royal  crown  ;  when  she  should  be  free — free, 
to  give  her-  hand  to  the  man  whom  alone  on  earth  she  loved,  and  to  be- 
come his  wife, 


1U5 

She  waited  for  that  day,  as  the  prisoner  does  for  the  hour  of  his  re- 
lease; but  like  him,  she  knew  that  a  premature  attempt  to  escape,  from 
her  dungeon,  would  bring  her  only  ruin  and  death,  and  not  freedom. 

She  must  be  patient  and  wait.  She  must  give  up  all  personal  inter- 
course with  her  lover;  and  even  his  letters,  John  Heywood  could  bring 
her  but  very  seldom,  and  only  with  the  greatest  caution.  How  often 
already  had  not  John  1  ley  wood  conjured  her  to  give  up  this  correspon- 
dence also;  how  often  had  he  not  with  tears  in  his  eyes  besought  her  to 
renounce  this  .love,  which  might  one  day  be  her  ruin  and  her  death  ! 
Catharine  laughed  at  his  gloomy  forebodings,  and  opposed  to  his  dark 
prophecies  a  bravery  reliant  on  the  future,  the  joyous  courage  of  her 
love. 

She  would  not  die,  for  happiness  and  love  were  awaiting  her ;  sho 
would  not  renounce  happiness  and  love,  for  the  sake  of  which  she  could 
endure  this  life  in  other  respects — 1  his  life  of  peril,  of  resignation,  of  en- 
mity and  of  hatred. 

But  she  wanted  to  live  in  order  to  be  happy  hereafter.  This  thought 
made  her  brave  and  resolute  ;  it  gave  her  courage  to  defy  her  enemies 
with  serene  brow  and  smiling  lip  ;  it  enabled  her  to  sit  with  bright  eye 
and  rosy  cheeks  at  the  side  of  her  dreaded  and  severe  husband,  and,  with 
cheerful  wit  and  inexhaustible  good  humor,  jest  away  the  frown  from  his 
brow,  and  vexation  from  his  soul. 

But  just  because  she  could  do  this,  she  was  a  dangerous  antagonist  to 
Douglas  and  Gardiner.  Just  on  that  account,  it  was  to  be  their  highest 
effort  to  destroy  this  beautiful  young  woman,  who  durstkiefy  them  and 
weaken  their  influence  with  the  King.  If  they  could  but  succeed  in  ren- 
dering the  King's  mind  more  and  more  gloomy  ;  if  they  could  but  com- 
pletely fill  him  again  with  fanaticd  religious  zeal;  then,  and  then  only, 
could  they  hope  to  attain  their  end  ;  which  end  was  this:  to  bring  back 
the  King  as  a  contrite,  penitent  and  humble  son  of  the  only  saving  mo- 
ther Church,  and  to  make  him  ag.iin,  from  a  proud,  vain  and  imperious 
prince,  an  obedient  and  submissive  son  of  the  Pope. 

The  King  was  to  renounce 'this  vain  and  blasphemous  arrogance  of 
wishing  to  be  himself  Head  of  his  Church.  He  was  to  turn  away  from 
the  spirit  of  novelty  and  heresy,  and  again  become  a  faithful  and  devout 
Catholic. 

But  in  order  that  they  might  attain  this  end,  Catharine  mu>t  i>e  re- 
moved from  him  ;  he  must  no  longer  behold  her  rosy  and  beautiful  face, 
and  no  longer  allow  himself  to  be  diverted  by  her  sensible  discourse  and 
her  keen  wit. 

We  shall  not  be  able  to  overthrow  the  Queen,  said  Karl  Doughs  to 
Gardiner,  as  the  two  stood  in  the  King's  ante-room,  and  as  Catharine's 
cheerful  chitchat  and  the  King's  merry  laugh  came  pealing  to  them  from 
the  adjoining  room.  No,  no,  Gardiner,  she  is  too  powerful  and  too 
crafty.  The  King  loves  her  very  much;  and  she  is  such  an  agreeable 
and  refreshing  recreation  to  him. 

Just  on  that  account  we  must  withdraw  hor  from   him,  said  Gardiner 


with  a  dark  frown.  He  must  turn  away  his  heart  from  this  «arthly 
}ovc  ;  and  after  we  shall  have  mortified  this  love  in  him,  this  savage  and 
arrogant  man  will  return  to  us  and  to  God,  contrite  and  humble. 

But  we  !>hall  not  be  able  to  mortify  it,  friend.  It  is  so  ardent  and 
selfish  a  love.  .  * 

So  much  the  greater  will  be  the  triumph,  if  our  holy  admonitions  are 
successful  iti  touching  his  heart,  Douglas.  Ii  is  true  he  will  suffer  very 
much,  if  he  is  obliged  to  gi\e  up  this  woman.  But  he  needs  precisely 
this  suffering  in  order  to  become  contrite  and  penitent.  His  mind  must 
first  be  entirely  darkened,  so  that  we  can  illuminate  it  with  the  light  of 
faith.  He  must  first  be  rendered  perfectly  isolated  and  comfortless  in 
order  to  bring  him  back  to  the  holy  communion  of  the  Church,  and  to 
iiud  him  again  accessible  to  the  consolations  of  that  faith  which  alone 
can  save. 

Ah,  sighed  Douglas,  1  fear  that  this  will  be  a  useless  struggle.  The 
King  is  so  vain  of  his  self-constituted  high-priesthood  ! 

But  he  is  such  a  weak  man,  and  such  a  great  sinner,  said  Gardiner 
with  a  cold  smile.  He  trembles  so  much  at  death  and  God's  judgment, 
and  our  huly  mother  the  Church  can  give  him  absolution,  and  by  her 
holy  sacraments  render  death  easy  to  him.  He  is  a  wicked  sinner  and 
has  stings  of  conscience.  This  it  is  that  will  bring  him  back  again  to 
the  bosom  of  the  Catholic  Church. 

But  when  will  that  come  to  pass?  The  King  is  sick,  and  any  day 
may  put  an  end  to  .his  life.  Woe  to  us,  if  he  die  before  he  has  given 
the  power  intcfour  hands  and  nominated  us  his  executors.  Woe  to  u?, 
if  the  Queen  is  appointed  Regeut,  and  the  King  selects  the  Seymours  as 
her  ministers:  Oh,  my  wise  and  pious  father,  the  work  that  you  wish 
to  do,  must  be  done  soon,  or  it  must  remain  forever  unaccompli?hed. 

It  shall  be  done  this  very  day.  caid  Gardiner  solemnly  ;  and  bending 
down  closer  to  the  Earl's  ear,  he  continued  :  we  have  lulled  the  Queen 
into  assurance  and  self-confidence,  and  by  this  means  she  shall  be  ruined 
this  very  day.  She  relies  so  strongly  on  her  power  over  the  King's 
disposition,  that  she  often  summons  up  courage  even  to  contradict  him, 
and  to  set  her  own  will  in  opposition  to  his.  That  shall  be  her  ruin  this 
very  day  !  For  mark  well,  Earl:  the  King  is  now  again  like  a  tiger 
that  has  been  long  fasting.  He  thirsts  for  blood  !  The  Queen  has  an 
aversion  to  human  blood,  and  she  is  horrified  when  she  hears  of  execu- 
tions. So  we  must  manage  that  these  opposing  inclinations  may  come 
into  contact,  and  contend  with  each  other. 

Oh,  I  understand  now,  whispered  Douglas  ;  and  I  bow  in  reverence 
before  the  wisdom  of  your  Highness.  You  will  let  them  both  contend 
with  their  own  weapons. 

1  will  point  out  a  welcome  prey  to  his  appetite  for  blood,  and  give  her 
silly  compassion  an  opportunity  to  contend  with  the  King  for  his  prey. 
Do  you  not  think,  Earl,  that  this  will  be  an  amusing  spectacle,  and  one 
refreshing  to  the  heart,  to  see  how  the  tiger  and  dove  struggle  with  each 
other?     And  I  tell  jou  the  tiger  thirsts  so  much  for  blood!     Blood  is 


107 

the  only  balm  that  he  applies  to  his  aching  limbs,  and  by  which  alone 
he  imagines  that  he  can  restore  peace  and  courage  to  his  tortured  con- 
science and  his  dread  of  death.  Ah,  ha,  we  have  told  him  that  with 
each  new  execution  of  a  heretic,  one  of  his  great  sins  would  be  blotted 
out.,  arid  that  the  blood  of  the  Calvanists  serves  to  wash  out  of  his  ac- 
count-book some  of  his  evil  deeds.  He  would  be  so  glad  to  be  able  to 
appear  pure  aiid  guiltless  before  the  tribunal  of  his  God  !  Therefore  he 
needs  very  much  heretical  blood.  But  hark — the  hour  strikes  which 
summons  me  to  the  royal  chamber.  There  has  been  enough  of  the 
Queen's  laughing  and  chit-chat.  We  will  now  endeavor  to  banish  the 
smile  forever  from  her  face.  She  is  a  heretic;  and  it  is  a  pious  work, 
well  pleasing  to  God,  if  we  plunge  her  headlong  into  ruin  ! 

May  God  be  with  your  Highness,  and  assist  you  by  his  grace,  that 
you  may  accomplish  this  sublime  work! 

God  will  be  with  us,  my  son,  since  for  him  it  is  that  we  labor  and 
harrass  ourselves.  To  his  honor  and  praise  we  bring  these  misbelieving 
heretics  to  the  stake,  and  make  the  air  re-echo  with  the  agonizing  shrieks 
of  those  who  are  racked  and  tortured.  That  is  music  well  pleasing  to 
God  ;  and  the  angels  in  heaven  will  triumph  and  be  glad  when  the  here- 
tical and  infidel  Queen  Catharine  also  has  to  strike  up  this  music  of  the 
damned.  Now  1  go  to  the  holy  labor  of  love  and  godly  wrath.  Pray 
for  me,  my  son,  that  1  may  succeed.  Remain  here  in  the  ante-room, 
and  await  my  call ;  perhaps  we  shall  need  you.  Pray  for  us,  and  with 
ns.  Ah,  we  still  owe  this  heretical  Queen  a  grudge  for  Anne  Askew.. 
Today  we  will  pay  her.  Then  she  accused  us,  to-day  we  will  accuse 
her,  and  God  and  his  host  of  saints  and  angels  are  with  us 

And  the  pious  and  godly  priest  crossed  himself,  and  with  head  humbly 
bowed  and  a  soft  smile  about  his  thin,  bloodless  lips,  strode  through  the 
hall  in  order  to  betake  himself  to  the  King's  chamber. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE    KINO   AND    THE    PRIEST. 

God  bless  and  preserve  your  Majesty,  said  Gardiner,  as  he  enteied,to 
the  King,  *ho  just  then  was  sitting  with  the  Queen  at  the  chess  board. 
With  frowning  brow  and  compressed  lips  he  looked  over  the  game, 
which  stood  unfavorable  for  him,  and  threatened  him  with  a  sptedy 
checkmate 

i^e  in  the  Q  icon  not  to  lot  the  King  i  *in  ;  for  his  super 
MitiuiM  and  jealous  temper  looked   ujhju  Mich  a  won  game  of  chess  as 


106 

> withal  an  assault  on  his  own  person.  And  he,  who  ventured  to  con- 
quer him  at  chess,  was  always  to  Henry  a  sort  of  traitor,  that  threatened 
his  kingdom,  and  was  rash  enough  to  attempt  ty  seize  the  crown. 

Tiie  Queen  very  well  knew  that,  but — Gardiner  was  right — she  was 
too  self  confident.  She  trusted  a  little  to  her  power  over  the  King  ;  she 
imagined  he*  would  make  an  exception  in  her  favor.  And  it  was  so  dull 
to  be  obliged  ever  to  be  the  losing  and  conquered  party  at  this  game; 
to  permit  the  King  always  to  appear  as  the  triumphant -victor,  and  to 
bestow  on  his  game  praise  whicn  he  did  not  deserve.  Catharine  wanted 
to  allow  herseif  for  once  the  triumph  of  having  beaten  her  husband.  She 
fought  him  man  to  man ;  she  irritated  him  by  her  ever  renewed  attacks  ; 
she  embittered  him  by  the  ever  approaching  danger. 

The  King,  who  at  iho  beginning  had  been  cheerful,  and  laughed  when 
Catharine  took  one  of  his  pieces — the  King  now  no  longer  laughed.  It 
was  no  more  a  game.  It  was  a  serious  struggle  ;  and  the  King  contend- 
ed with  his  consort  for  the  victory  with  impassioned  eagerness. 

Catharine  did  not  even  see  the  clouds  which  were  gathering  on  the 
King's  brow.  Her  looks  were  directed  only  to  the  chess-board  ;  and, 
breathless  with  expectation  and  glowing  with  eagerness,  she  considered 
the  move  she  was  about  to  make. 

But  Gardiner  was  very  well  aware  of  the  King's  secret  auger  ;  and  he 
comprehended  that  the  situation  was  favorable  for  him. 

With  soft,  sneaking  step  he  approached  the  King  and,  standing  be- 
hyid  him,  looked  over  the  game. 

You  are  checkmated  in  four  moves,  my  husband!  said  the  Queen 
with  a  cheerful  laugh,  as  she  made  her  move. 

A  still  daiker  frown  gathered  on  the  King's  brow,  and  his  lips  were 
violently  compressed. 

It  is  true,  your  Majesty,  said  Gardiner.-  You  will  soon  have  to  suc- 
cumb.    Danger  threatens  you  from  the  queen. 

Henry  gave  a  start,  and  turned  his  face  to  Gardiner  with  an  expres- 
sion of  inquiry.  In  his  exasperated  mood  against  the  Queen,  the  crafty 
priest's  ambiguous  remark  struck  him  with  double  keenness. 

Gardiner  was  a  very  skillful  hunter  ;  the  very  first  arrow  that  he  shot, 
had  hit.— But  dtharine,  too,  had  heard  it  whiz.  Gardiner's  slow,  am- 
biguous words  had  startled  her  from  her  artless  security  ;  and  as  she 
now  looked  into  the  King's  glowing,  excited  face,  she  comprehended  her 
want  of  prudence.  ,  *  , 

But  it  was  too  late  to  remedy  it.  The  King's  checkmate  was  una- 
voidable ;  and  Henry  himself  had  already  noticed  it. 

It  is  all  right !  said  the  King  impetuously.  You  have  won,  Catharine; 
and  by  the  Holy  Mo*her  of  God,  you  can  boast  of  the  rare  good  fortune 
of  having  vanquished  Henry  of  England. 

I  will  not  boast  of  it,  my  noble  husband  !  said  she  with  a  smile.  You 
have  played  with  me  as  the  linn  does  with  the  puppy,  which  he  does  not 
crush  only   because  he  has  compassioD  on  him,  and  he  pities    the  poor 


100 

little  creature.     Lion,  I  thank  you.     You  have  been   magnanimous  to- 
day.    Vou  have  let  me  win. 

The  King's  face  brightened  a  little.  Gardiner  saw  it.  He  must  pre- 
vent, Catharine  from  following  up  her  -advantage  farther. 

Magnanimity  is  an  exalted,  but  a  very  dangerous  virtue,  said  he 
gravely;  and  Kings  above  all  things  dare  not  exercise  it;  for  magna- 
nimity pardons  crimes  committed,  and  Kings  are  not  here  topardoQj  luit 
to  punish. 

Oh,  no  indeed,  said  Catharine  ;  to  be  able  to  be  magnanimous  is  the 
noblest  prerogative  of  Kings  ;  and  since  they  are  God's  representatives  on 
earth,  they  too  must  exercise  pity  and  mercy,  like  God  himself. 

The  King's  brow  again  grew  dark,  and  his  sullen  looks  stared  at  the 
chess  board. 

Gardiner  shrugged  his  shoulders,  And  made  no  reply.  He  drew  a  roll 
of  papers  out  of  his  gown  and  handed  it  to  the  King. 

Sire,  said  he,  I  hope  you  do  not  share  the  Queen's  views.  Else  it 
would  be  bad  for  the  quiet  and  peace  of  the  country.  Mankind  cannot 
be  governed  by  mercy,  but  only  through  fear.  Your  Majesty  holds  the 
sword  in  his  hands.  If  you  hesitate  tp  let  it  fall  on  evil  doers,  they  will 
soon  wrest  it  from  your  hands,  and  you  will  be  powerless  ! 

Those  are  very  cruel  words,  your  Highness  !  exclaimed  Catharine,  who 
allowed  herself  to  be  carried  away  by  her  magnanimous  heart,  and  sue 
pected  that  Gardiner  had  come  to  move  the  King  to  some  harsh  and 
bloody  decision. 

She  wanted  to  anticipate  his  design  ;  she  wanted  to  move  the  King  to 
mildness.     But  the  moment  was  unpropitious  for  her. 

The  King,  whom  she  had  just  before  irritated  by  her  victory  over  him, 
felt  his  vexation  heightened  by  the  opposition  which  she  offered  to  the 
Bishop  ;  for  this- opposition  was  at  the  same  time  directed  against  him- 
self. The  King  was  not  at  all  inclined  to  exercise  mercy  ;  it  wns,  there- 
fore, a  very,  wicked  notion  of  the  Queen's,  to  praise  mercy  as  the  highest 
privilege  of  princes. 

With  a  silent  nod  of  the  head,  he  to#k  the  papers  from  Gardiner's 
hands,  and  opened  them. 

Ah,  said  he,  running  over  the  pages,  your  Highness  is  right ;  men  do 
not  deserve  to  be  treated  with  mercy,  for  they  are  always  ready  to  abuse 
it.  Because  we  have  for  a  few  weeks  lighted  no  fagot  piles  and  erected 
no  scalfolds,  they  imagine  that  we  are  asleep  ;  and  they  begin  their  trea- 
sonable and  mischeivous  doings  with  redoubled  violence,  and  rftUe  their 
sinful  fists  against  us,  in  order  to  mock  us.  1  see  here  an  accusation 
against  one  who  has  presumed  to  .•■ay  that  there  is  no  king  by  the  grace 
of  God  ;  and  that  the  King  is  a  miserable  and  sinful  mortal  just  as  well 
as  the  lowest  beggar.'  Well,  we  will  concede  this  man  his  point — we 
will  not  be  to  him  a  King  by  the  grace  of  God,  but  a  Kibg  by  the  wrath 
of  God  !  We  will  show  him  that  we  are  not  yet  quite  like  the  lowest 
beggar,  for  we  still  possess  at  least  wood  enough  to  build  a  pile  of  fagots 
for  him. 


110 

And  .is  the  King  thus  spoke,  he  broke  out  into  a  loud  laugh,  in  which 
Gardiner  heartily  chimed. 

llece  I  beh  >ld  the  indictment  of  two  others  who  deny  the  King's  su- 
premacy, continued  Henry,  still  turning  over  the  leaves  of  the  papers. 
They  revile  me  as  a  blasphemer,  because  I  dare  call  myself  God's  rep- 
resentative— the  visible  Head  of  His  Holy  Church;  they  say  that  God 
alone  is  Lord  of  His  Church,  and  that  Luther  and  Calvin  are  more  exal- 
ted representatives  of  God  than  the  King  himself.  'Verily  we  must  hold 
our  royalty  and  our  God-granted  dignity  very  ch^ap,  if  we  should  not 
punish  these  transgressors^who  blasphemes  iu  our  sacred  person  God 
himself!     . 

He  continued  turning  over  the  leaves.  Suddenly  a  deep  flush  of  an- 
ger suffused  his  countenance,  and  a  fierce  curse  burst  from  his  lips. 

He  threw  the  paper  on  the  table,  and  struck  it  with  his  clenched  fist. 
Are  all  the  devils  let  loose  then?  yelled  he  in  wrath.  Does  sedition 
blaze  so  wildly  in  my  land,  that  we  have  no  longer  the  power  to  subdue 
it.  Here  a  fanatical  heretic  on  the  public  street  has  warned  the  people 
not  to  read  that  holy  book  which  1  myself,  like  a  well  intentioned  and 
provident  father  and  guardian,  wrote  for  my  people,  and  gave  it  them 
that  they  might  be  edified  and  exalted  ,  thereby.  And  this  book  that 
felon  has  shown  to  the  people,  and  said  to  them:  "You  call  that  the 
King's  book  ;  and  you  are  right ;  for  it  is  a  wicked  book,  a  work  of 
hell,  and  the  Devil  is  the  King's  sponsor!"  Ah,  I  see  well  we  must 
again  show  our  earnest,  and  angry  face  to  this  miserable,  traitorous  rab- 
ble, that  it  may  again  have  faith  in  the  King.  It  is  a  wretched,  disgust- 
ing and  contemptible  mob — this  people  !  They  are  obedient  and  hum-" 
ble  only  when  they  tremble  and  feel  the  lash.  Only  when  they  are 
trampled  in  the  dust,  do  they  acknowledge  that  we  are  their  master  ; 
and  when  we  have  them  racked  and  burnt,  they  have  respect  for  our 
excellency.  We  must,  however,  brand  royalty  on  their  bodies  so  that 
they  may  be  sensible  of  it  as  a  reality.  And  by  the  eternal  God,  we 
will  do  that!  Give  me  the  pen  here  that  1  may  sign  and  ratify  these 
warrants.  But  dip  the  pen  wail,  your  Highness,  for  there  are  eight  war- 
rants, and  I  must  write  my  name  eight  times.  Ah,  ah,  it  is  a  hard  and 
fatiguing  occupation  to  be  a  king,  and  no  day  passes  without  trouble 
and  toil ! 

The  Lord  our  God  will  bless  this  toil  to  you  !  said  Gardiner  solemn- 
ly, as  he  handed  the  King  the  pen. 

Henry  was  preparing  to  write,  as  Catharine  laid  her  hand  on  his,  and 
checked  him. 

Do  not  sign  them,  my  husband,  said  she  in  a  voice  of  entreaty.  Oh,  by 
all  that  is  sacred  to  you,  I  conjure  you  not  to  let  yourself  be  carried  away 
by  your  momentary  vexation  ;  let  not  the  injured  man  be  mightier  in.  you 
than  the  righteous  King.  Let  the  sun  sec  and  rise  on  your  wrath;  and 
then,  when  you  afe  perfectly  calm,  perfectly  composed — then  pronounce 
judgment  on  these  accused.  For.  consider  it  well,  my  husband,  these 
are  eight  death-warrants,  that  you  are  here  about  to  sign  ;  and  with  these 


Ill 

few  strokes  of  the  pen,  you  will  tear  ei^ht  human  beings  from  life,  fiom 
family  and  from  the  world  ;  you  will  take  from  the  mother,  her  son  ;  from 
the  wife,  her  husband;  from  the.  infant  children,  their  father.  Consider 
tit,  Henry  ;  it  is  so  weighty  a  responsibility  that  God  has  placed  in  your 
hand,  and  it  is  presumptuous  not  to  meet  it  in  holy  earnestness  and  un- 
disturbed tranquility  of  mind. 

Now,  by  the  Holy  Mother !  cried  the  King,  striking  vehemently  up- 
on the  table,  I  believe  forsooth,  you  dare  excuse  traitors  and  blasphe- 
mers of  their  King!.  You  have  not  heard  then  of  what  they  are  ac- 
cused 1 

1  nave  heard  it,  said  Catharine  more  and  more  warmly  ;  I  have  heard, 
and  1  say,  nevertheless,  sign  not  those  death  warrants,  my  husband.  It 
is  true  these  poor  creatures  have  grievously  erred,  but  they  ened  as 
human  brings.  Then  let  your  punishment  also  be  human.  It  is  riot 
wise,  oh  King,  to  want  to  avenge,  so  bitterly  a  trifling  injury  to  your 
Majesty.  A  king  must  be  exalted  above  reviling  and  calumny.  Like 
the  sun.  he  must  shine  upon  the  just  and  the  unjust,  no  one  of  whom 
is  so  mighty  that  he  can  clond  his  splendor  and  dim  his  glory.  Punish 
evildoers  and  criniinals,  but  be  noble  and  magnanimous  towards  those 
who  have  injured  your  person.        ' 

The  King  is  no  person  that  can  be  injured  !  said  Gardiner.  The  King 
is  a  sublime  idea,  a  mighty,  world-embracing  thought.  Whoever  in- 
jures the.  King,  has  not  injured  a  person,  but  divinely  instituted  royalty 
— the  universal  thought,  that  holds  together  the  whole  world  ! 

Whoevar  injure*  the  King  has  injured  God!  yelled  the  King;  and 
whoever  seizes  our  crown  and  reviles  us,  shall  have  his  hand  struck  off, 
and  his  tongue  torn  out,  as  is  done  to  atheists  and  patricides  ! 

Well,  strike  off  their  hand  then,  mutilate  them;  but  do  not  kill  them! 
oried  Catharine  passionately.  Ascertain  at  least  whether  their  crime  is  so 
grievous,  as  they  want  to  make  you  believe,  my  husband.  Oh,  it  is  so 
easy  now  to  be  accused  as  a  traitor  and  atheist.  All  that  is  needed  for 
it,  is  an  inconsiderate  word,  a  doubt,  not  as  to  God,  but  as  to  his  priests 
and  this  Church,  which  you,  my  King,  have  established  ;  and  of  which 
tht  lofty  and  peculiar  structure  is  to  many  so  new  and  unusual,  that 
they  ask  themselves" in  doubt,  whether  that  is  a  Church  of  God  or  a 
palace  of  the  King,  and  that  they  lose  themselves  in  its  labyrinthine  pas- 
sages and  wander  about  without  being  able  to  find  the  exit. 

Had  they  faith,  said  Gardiner,  solemnly,  they  would  not  lose  their  way  ; 
and  were  God  with   them,   the   entrance   would   not   be  closed   to  them. 

Oh,  1  well  know  that  you  are  always  inexorable  !  cried  Catharine  an- 
grily. But  it  js  not  to  you  either,  that  I  intercede  for  mercy,  but  to  the 
King;  and  I  tell  you,  Sir  Bishop,  it  would  be  better  for  you,  and  mom 
worthy  of  a  priest  of  Christian  love,  if  you  united  your  prayers  with 
mine,  instead  of  wanting  to  dispose  the  King's  noble  heart  to  severity. 
You  are  a  priest  ;  and  you  have  learned  in  your  own  life,  that  there  are 
many  paths  that  lead  to  God,  and  that  we,  one  and  all,  doubt  and  are 
perplexed  which  of  them  is  right. 


112 

How  1  screamed  the  King,  as  he  rose  from  his  seat  and  gazed  at  Cath- 
arine with  angry  looks.  You  mean,  then,  that  the  heretics  also  may 
find  themselves  on  a  path  that  leads  to  God  1 

I  mean,  cried  >he  passionately,  that  Jesus  Christ,  too,  was  called  an  . 
atheist,  and  executed.  I  mean  that  Stephen  was  stoned  by  Paul,  and 
that,  nevertheless,  both  are  now  honored  as  saints  and  prayed  to  as  such. 
I  mean,  that  Socrates  was  not  damned  because  he  lived  before  Christ, 
and  so  could  not  be  acquainted  with  his  religion  ;  and  that  Horace  and 
Julius  Csesar,  Phidias  and  Plato  must  yet,  be  called  great  and  noble 
spirits,  even  though  they  were  heathen.  Yes,  my  lord  and  husband, 
1  mean  that  it  behooves  us  well  to  exercise  gentleness  in  matters  o£  re- 
ligion, and  that  faith  is  not  to  be  obtruded  on  men  by  main  force  as  a 
burden,  but  is  to  be  bestowed  upon  them  as  a  benefit  through  their  own 
conviction. 

So  you  do  not  hold  these  eight  accused  to  be  criminals  worthy  of 
death  !  asked  Henry  with  studied  calmness,  and  a  coirposure  maintain- 
ed with  difficulty. 

No,  my  husband !  I  hold  that  they  arc  poor,  erring  mortals,  who 
seek  the  right  path,  and  would  willingly  travel  it;  and  who,  therefore, 
ask  in  doubt  all  along.:  Is  this  the  right  way  1 

It  is  enough!  said  the  King,  as  he  beckoned  Gardiner  to  him,  and 
leaning  on  his  arm,  took  a  few  steps  across  the  room.  We  will  speak 
no  more  of  these  matters.  They  are -too  grave  for  us  to  wish  to  decide 
them  in  the  presence  of  our  gay  young  Queen.  The  heart  of  woman  is 
always  inclined  to  gentleness  and  forgiveness.  You  should  have  borne 
that  in  mind,  Gardiner,  and  not  'have  spoken  of  these  matters  in  the 
Queen's  presence. 

Sire,  it  was,  however,  the  hour  that  you  appointed  for  consultation  on 
these  matters. 

Was  it  the  hour!  exclaimed  the  King  quickly.  Well,  then  we  did 
wrong  to  devote  it  to  anything  else  than  grave  employments  ;  and  you 
will  pardon  me,  Queen,  if  1  beg  you  to  leave  me  alone  with  the  Bishop. 
Affairs  of  State  must  not  be  postponed. 

He  presented  Catharine  his  hand  and  with  difficulty,  and  yet  with  a 
smiling  countenance,  conducted  her  to  the  door.  As  she  stopped, .and, 
looking  him  in  the  eye  with  an  expression  inquiring  and  smiling,  opened 
her  lips  to  "speak  to  him,  he  made  an  impatient  gesture  with  his  hand, 
and  a  dark  frown  gathered  on  his  brow. 

It  is  late,  said  he  hastily,  and  we  have  business  of  State. 

Catharine  did  not  venture  to  speak  ;  she  bowed  in  silence  and  left  the 
room.  The  King  watched  her  with  sullen  brow  and  angry  looks.  Then 
he  turned  round  to  Gardinar. 

Now  ?  asked  he,  what  do  you  think  of  the  Queen  1 

I  think,  said  Gardiner  so  slowly  and  so  deliberately  that  each  word 
had  time  to  penetrate  the  King's  sensitive  heart  like  the  prick  of  a  nee- 
dle, I  think  that  she  does  not  deem  them  criminals,  that  call  the  holy 
book,  which  you  have  written,  a  work  of  hell ;  and  that  she  has  a  great 


118 

deal  of  sympathy  for  those  heretics,  who  will  not  acknowledge  ^our  su- 
premacy. 

By  the  Holy  Mother,  I  believe  she  herself  would  speak  thus,  and  avow 
herself  among  my  enemies,  if  she  wore  not  my  wife!  cried  the  King,  in 
whose  heart  rage  began  already  to  seethe  like  lava  in  a  volcano. 

She  does  it  already,  although  she  is  jour  wife,  Sire  !  She  imagines, 
her  exalted  position  rendets  her  unamenable,  and  protects  ber  from  your 
righteous  wrath;  therefore  she  does  what  no  ^me  else  dares  do,  and 
speaks  what  in  the  mouth  of  any  other  would  be  the  blackest  treason. 

What  does  she  1  and  what,  says  she?  cried  the  King.  Do  not  hesi- 
tate to  tell  me,  your  Highness  It  behooves  me  well  to  know  what  my 
■wife  doe*  and  says. 

Sire,  she  is  not  merely  the  secret  patroness  of  heretics  and  reformers, 
but  she.  is  also  a  professor  of  Iheir  faith.  She  listens  to  their  false  doc- 
trine with  eager  mind,  and  receives  the  cursed  priests  of  this  sect  into 
her  apartments,  in  order  to  hear  their  fanatical  discnurse  and  hellish  in- 
spiration. He  speaks  of  these  heretics  as  true  believers  and  Christians  ; 
and  denominates  Luther  the  light  that  God  has  sent  into  the  world  to 
illuminate  the  gloom  and  falsehood  of  the  Church  with  the  splendor  of 
truth  and  love — that  Luther,  Sire,  who  dared  write  you  such  shameful 
and  insulting  letters,  and  ridiculed  in  such  a  brutal  manner  your  royalty 
and  your  wisdom.  < 

She  is  a  heretic  ;  and  when  you  say  that,  you  say  everything  !  scream- 
ed the  King.  The  volcano  was  ripe  for  an  eruption,  and  the  seething 
lava  must  at  Inst  have  an  outlet. 

Yes,  she  is  a  heretic!  repeated  the  King  ;  and  yet  we  have  sworn  to 
exterminate  these  atheists  from  our  land. 

She  very  well  knows  that  she  is  secure  from  your  wrath,  said  Gardi- 
ner with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders.  She  relies  on  the  fact  that  she  is 
the  Queen,  and  that  in  the.  heart  of  her  exalted  husband  love  is  might- 
ier than  the  faith.  « 

Nobody  shall  suppose  that  he  is  secure  from  my  wrath,  and  no  one 
shall  rely  on  the  security'  afforded  him  by  my  love.  She  is  a  proud, 
arrogant  and  audacious  woman  !  cried  the  King,  whose  looks  were  just 
then  fixed  again  on  the  chess  beard,  and  whose  ,-pite  was  heightened  by 
the  remembrance  of  the  lost  trame.  She  ventures  to  brave  us,  and  to 
have  a  will  other  than  our.-.  Bv  the  Holy  Mother,  we  will  endeavor  to 
break  her  stubbornness,  and  bend  her  proud  neck  beneath  our  will. 
1  will  show  the  world  that  Henry  of  England  is  still  the  Immoveable 
and  Incorruptible.  I  will  give  the  heretics  an  evidence  thai  I  am  iu 
reality  the  Defender  and  Protector  of  the  Faith  and  of  religion  in  my 
land,  and  that  nobody  standi  too  high  to  bei  nay  wrath,  and 

to  feel  the.  sword  of  justice  on  his  neck       She  is  a  h''r<  ti  ■;   and  we  have 
sworn  to  dvtroy  hi  rtb  tire  and  We  shall  keep  out 

And  God  will  bless   you   with  his  blessing,     lb-  w;  .  surround  your 
head  with  a  halo  of  fame  :  and    tbe   Church  will  prai  I    J  most 

glorious  pastor,  her  e.xai 


114 

Be  it  #o !  said  the  King,  as  with  youthful  alacrity  he  strode  across 
the  room;  and,  stepping  to  his  writing  table,  with  a  vigorous  and  fleet 
hand  he  wrote  down  a  few  lines. 

Gardiner  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room  with  his  hands  folded  -r  and 
his  lips  murmured  in  an  undertone  a  prayer,  while  his  large  flashing 
eyes  were  fastened  on  the  King  with  a  curious  and  penetrating  expression. 

Here,  your  Highness,  the  King  then  said,  'take  this  paper — take  it 
and  order  everything  necessary.  It  is  an  arrest- warrant;  and  before 
the  night  draws  on,  the  Queen  shall  be  in  the  Tower. 

Verily,  the  Lord  is  mighty  in  you  !  cried  Gardiner  as  he  took -the  pa- 
per; the  heavenly  hosts  sing  their  hallelujah  and  look  down  with  rapture 
on  the  hero  who  subdues  his  own  heart  to  serve  God  and  the  Church. 

Take  it  and  speed  you  !  said  the, King  hastily.  In  a  few  hours  every- 
thing-must  be  done.  Give  Earl  Douglas*  the  paper,  and  bid  him  go 
with  it  to  the  Lord  Lieutenant  of  the  Tower,  so  that  he  himself  may  re- 
pair hither  with  the  yeomen  of  the  guard.  For  this  woman  is  yet  a 
Queen,  and  even  in  the  criminal,  I  will  still  recognize  the  Queen.  The 
Lord-Lieutenant  himself  must  conduct  her  to  the  Tower.  Hasten  then, 
say  I !  But  hark  you,  keep  all  this  a  secret,  and  let  nobody  know  any- 
thing of  it  till  the  decisive  moment  arrives.  Otherwise  her  friends  might 
take  a  notion  to  implore  my  mercy  for  this  sinner ;  and  I  abhor  this 
whininc  and  crying.  Silence  then,  for  I  am  tired  and  need  rest  and 
sleep.  1  have,  as  you  say,  just  done  a  work  well  pleasing  to  God  ;  per- 
haps he  may  send  me,  as  a  reward  for  it,  invigorating  and  strengthen- 
ing sleep,  which  I  have  now  so  long  desired  in  vain. 

And  the  King  threw  back  the  curtains  of  his  couch,  and,  supported 
by  Gardiner,  laid  himself  on  the  downy  cushion. 

Gardiner  drew  the  curtains  again,  and  shoved  the  fatal  paper  into  his 
pocket.  Even  in  his  hands  it  did  not  seem  to  him  secure  enough.  What? 
Might  not  some  curious  eye  fasten  on  it,  and  divine  its  contents  ?  Might 
not  some  impertinent  and  shameless  friend  of  the  Queen  snatch  this  pa- 
per from  him,  and  carry  it  to  her  and  give  her  warning  1  No,  no,  it  was 
not  secure  enough  in  his  hands.  He  must  hide  it  in  the  pocket  of  his 
gown.     There,  no  one  could  find  it,  no  one  discover  it. 

So  there  he  hid  it.  In  the  gown  with  its  large  folds  it  was  safe;  and 
after  he  had  thus  concealed  the  precious  paper,  he  left  the  room  with 
rapid  strides,  in  order  to  acquaint  Earl  Douglas  with  the  glorious  result 
of  his  pains. 

Not  a  single  time  did  he  look  back.  Had  he  done  so,  he  would  have 
sprung  back  into  that  room  as  a  tiger  pounces  on  his  prey.  He  would 
have  plunged,  as  the  hawk  stoops  at  the  dove,  at  that  piece  of  white 
paper,  that  lay  there  on  the  floor,  exactly  on  the  spot  where  Gardiner 
was  before  standing  when  he  shoved  into  his  pocket  the  arrest- warrant 
written  by  the  King. 

Ah,  even  the  gown  of  a  priest  is  not  always  close  enough  to  conceal 
a  dangerous  secret;  and  even  the  pocket  of  a  bishop  may  sometimes 
have  holes  in  it. 


115 

Gardiner  went  away  with  the  proud  consciousness  of  having  the  order 
of  arrest  in  his  pocket;  and  that  fatal  paper  lay  on  the  floor  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  King's  chamber. 

Who  will  come  to  pick  It  up  ?  Who  will  become  the  sharer  of  this 
dangerous  secret1?  To  whom  will  this  mute  paper  proclaim  the  shock- 
ing news  that  the  Queen  has  fallen  into  disgrace,  and  is  this  very  day  to 
be  dragged  to  the  Tower  as  a  prisoner? 

All  is  still  and  lonely  in  the  King's  apartment.  Nothing  is  stirring, 
not  even  the  heavy  damask  curtains  of  the  royal  couch. 

The  King  sleeps.  Even  vexation  and  anger  are  a  good  lullaby  ;  they 
have  so  agitated  and  prostrated  the  King,  that  he  has  actually  fallen 
asleep  from  weariness. 

Ah,  the  King  should  have  been  thankful  to  his  wife,  for  his  vexation 
at  the  lost  game  of  chess,  and  his  wrath  at  Catharine's  heretical  senti- 
ments.    These  had  fatigued  him  ;  these  had  lulled  him  to  sleep. 

The  warrant  of  arrest  still  lay  on  the  floor.  Now  quite  softly,  quite 
cautiously  the  door  opens.  Who  is  it,  that  dares  venture  to  enter  the 
King's  room  unsummoned  and  unannounced1? 

There  are  only  three  persons  who  dare  venture  that :  the  Queen, 
Princess  Elizabeth  and  John  Heywood  the  fool.  Which  of  the  three 
is  it? 

It  is  Princess  Elizabeth,  wjio  comes  to  salute  her  royal  father.  Every 
forenoon  at  this  hour  she  had  found  the  King  in  his  room.  Where  was 
he  then  to-day  ? — As  she  looked  around  the  100m  with  an  enquiring  and 
surprised  air,  her  eye  fell  on  that  paper  which  lay  there  on  the  floor. 
She  picked  it  up,  and  examined  it  with  childish  curiosity.  What  could 
this  paper  contain  ?  Surely  it  was  no  secret — else,  it  would  not  lie  here 
on  the  floor.  "* 

She  opened  it  and  read.  Her  fine  countenance  expressed  horror  and 
amazement;  a  low  exclamation  escaped  her  lips.  But  Elizabeth  had  a 
strong  and  resolute  soul,;  and  the  unexpected  and  the  surprising  did. not 
dull  her  clear  vision,  nor  cloud  her  sharp  wit..  The  Queen  was  in  dan- 
ger. The  Queen  was  to  be  imprisoned.  That,  this  dreadful  paper 
shrieked  in  her  ear;  but  she  durst  not  allow  herself  to  be  stunned  by  it. 
She  must  act ;  she  must  warn  the  Queen. 

She  hid  the  paper  in  her  bosom,  and  light  as  a  zephyr  she  floated 
away  again  out  of  the  chamber. 

With  flashing  eyes  and  cheeks  reddened  by  her  rapid  race,  Elizabeth 
entered  the  .Queen's  chamber ;  with  passionate  vehemence  she  clasped 
her  in  her  arms  and  tenderly  kissed  her. 

Catharine,  my  Queen  and  my  mother,  said  she,  we  have  sworn  to 
stand  by  and  protect  eaoh  other  when  danger  threatens  us  Fate  is  gra 
cious  to  me,  for  it  has  given  into  my  hand  the  means  of  making  good 
my  oath  this  very  day.  Take  that  paper  and  read  !  It  i-  an  order  for 
your  imprisonment,  made  out  by  the  King  himself.  When  you  havo 
read  it,  then  let  us  consider  what  is  to  be  donej  and  how  we  can  avert 
the  danger  from  you. 


13G 

An  order  qf  imprisonment !  said  Catharine  with  a  shudder  as  she  read 
it.  An'order  of  imprisonment,  that  is  to  say,  a  death-warrant !  For 
when  once  the  threshold  of  that  frightful  Tower  is  crossed,  it  denotes 
that  it  is  never  to  be  left  again  ;  and  if  it  Queen  is  arrested  and  accused, 
then  is  she  also  already  condemned.  Oh  my  God,  Princess,  do  yoti 
comprehend  that — to  have  to  die  while  life  still  throhs  so  fresh  and 
warm  in  our  veins?  To  be  obliged  to  go  to  death,  while  the  future  still 
allures  us  with  a  thousand  hopes,  a  thousand  wishes  %  My  God,  to  have 
to  descend  into  the  desolate  prison,  and  into  the  gloomy  grave,  while 
the  world  greets  us  with  alluring  voices,  and  springtide  has  scarcely 
awoke  in  our  heart  % 

Streams  of  tears  burst  from  her  eyes,  and  she  hid  her  face  in  her 
trembling  hands. 

Weep  not,  Queen,  whispered  Elizabeth,  herself  trembling  and  pale 
as  death.  Weep  not;  but  consider  what  is  to  be  done.  Each  minute, 
and  the  danger  increases  ;  each  minute  brings  the  evil  nearer  to  us. 

You  are  right,  said  Catharine,  as  she  again  raised  her  head,  and  shook 
the  tears  from  her  eyes.  Yes,  you  are  right;  it  is  not  time  to  weep  and 
wail.  Death  is  creeping  upon  me  ;  but  1 — 1  will  not  die.  I  live  still ; 
and  so  long  as  there  is  a  breath  in  me  I  will  fight  against  death.  God 
will  assist  me  ;(  God  will  help  me  to  overcome  this  danger  also,  as  I 
have  already  done  so  many  others. 

But  what  will  you  do?  where  can  you  begin"?  You  know  not  the 
accusation.  You  know  not  who  accuses  you,  nor  with  what  you  are 
charged. 

Yet  1  suspect  it !  said  the  Queen  musingly.  When  I  now  recall  to 
mind  the  King's  angry  countenance,  and  the  malicious  smile  of  that  ma- 
lignant priest,  I  believe  I  know  the  accusation.  Yes — everything  is 
now  clear  to  me.  Ah,  it  is  the  heretic  Chat  they  would  sentence  to 
death.  Well  now,  my  Lord  Bishop,  I  still  live ;  and  we  will  see  which 
of  us  two  will  gain  the  victory  ! 

With  proud  step  and  glowing  cheeks,  she  hurried  to  the  door.  Eliza- 
beth held  her  back.     Whither  are  you  going  1  cried  she  in  astonishment. 

To  the  King !  said  she  with  a  proud  smile.  He  has  heard  the 
Bishop;  now  he  shall  hear  me  also.  The  King's  disposition  is  fickle 
and  easily  changed.  We  will  now  see  which  cunning  is  the  stronger — 
the  cunning  of  the  priest,  or  the  cunning  of  the  woman.  Elizabeth, 
pray  for  me.  I  go  to  the  King;  and  you  will  either  see  me  free  and 
happy,  or  never  again. 

She  imprinted  a  passionate  kiss  on  Elizabeth's  lips  and  hurriedly  left 
the  chamber. 


117 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


CIJESS-rLAV. 


It  was  many  days  since  the  King  had  been  as  well  as  he  was  to. day. 
For  ft  long  time  be  bad  not  enjoyed  such  refreshing  sleep  as  on  the  day 
when  he  signed  the  warrant  for  the  Queen's  imprisonment.  But 'he 
thought,  nothing  at  all  about  it.  Sleep  seemed  to  have  obliterated  all 
recollection  of  it  from  his  memory.  Like  an  anecdote  which  you  listen 
to,  and  smile  at  for  the/moment,  but  soon  forget,  so  had  the  whole  oc- 
currence vanished  again  from  him.  It  was  an  anecdote  of  the  moment 
— a  transient  interlude — nothing  farther. 

The  King  had  slept  well,  and  he  had  no  care  for  anything  else.  He 
stretched  himself,  and  lay  lounging  on  his  couch,  thinking  with  rapture 
how  fine  it  would  be,  if  he  could  enjoy  such  sweet  and  refreshing  repose 
every  day,  and  if  no  bad  dreams  and  no  fear  would  frighten  away  sleep 
from  his  eyes.  He  felt  very  serene  and  very  good-humored  ;  and  had 
any  cue  now  come  to  beg  a  favor  of  the  King,  he  would  have  granted 
it  in  the  (ir-t  joy  after  such  invigorating  sleep.  But  he  was  alone;  no 
one  was  v.  Hhhim;  he  must  repress  his  gracious  desires.  But  no. — 
Was  it  not  as  though  something  were  stirring  and  breathing  behind  the 
curtain*  I 

The  King  threw  back  the  curtains,  and  a  soft  smile  flitted  over  his 
features;  fur  before  his  bed  sat  the  Queen.  There  she  sat  with  rosy 
cheeks  and  sparkling  eyes,  and  greeted  him  with  a  roguish  smile. 

Ah,  Kate,  it  is  you  !  cried  the  King.  Well,  now  1  understand  how 
it  happened  that  I  have  had  such  a  sound  and  refreshing  sleep!  You 
stood  by  as  my  good  angel,  and  scared  the  pains  and  bad  dreams  away 
from  my  couch. 

And  as  he  said  this,  he  reached  out  his  hand  and  tenderly  stroked  h^r 
velvet  cheek.  He  did  not  at  nil  recollect  that  he  had  already,  as  it 
were,  devoted  that  charming  head  to  the  scaffold,  and  that  in  a  few  hours 
more  these  bright  eyes  were  to  behold  naught  but  the  night  of  the  dun- 
geon. Sleep,  as  we  have  said,  had  lulled  to  sleep  also  the  recollection 
of  this  ;  and  the  evil  thoughts  had  not  yet  awoke  again  in  him.  To  sign 
an  order  of  arrest  or  a  death  warrant  was  with  the  King  such  a  usual 
and  every-day  matter,  that  it  constituted  no  epoch  in  his  life,  and  nci 
thcr  burdened  him  with  troubles  of  conscience  nor  made  his  heart  shud- 
der and  tremble. 

But  Catharine  thought  of  it.  and  ns  the  King's  hand  stroked  her  cheek, 
it  was  as  though  death  was  just  then  touching  her,  never  again  to  re- 
lease her.  However,  she  overcame  this  momentary  horror,  and  had  the 
courage  to  preserve  her  serene  and  innocent  air 


113 

You  call  me  your  good  angel,  my  husband,  said  she  with  a  smile; 
but  yet  I  am  nothing  more  than  your  little  Puck,  who  bustles  about 
you,  and  now  and  then  makes  you  laugh  with  his  drolleries. 

And  a  dear  little  Puck  you  are,  Katie,  cried  the  King,  who  always 
gazed  upon  his  wife's  rosy  and  fresh  countenance  with  rpal  satisfaction. 

Then  I  will  prove  myself  this  very  day  your  Puck,  and  allow  you  no 
more  repose  on  your  couch,  said  sic,  as  she  made  a  mock  effort  to  raise 
him  up.  Do  you  know,  my  husband,  why  I  came  here  ?  A  butterfly  has 
tapped  at  my  window.  Only  think  now,  a  butterfly  in  winter !  That 
betokens,  that  this  time  winter  is  spring  ;  and  the  clerk  of  the  weather 
above  there  has  confounded  January  with  March.  The  butterfly  has 
invited  us,  King  ;  and  only  see!  the  sun  is  winking  into  the  window  to 
us,  and  says  we  have  but  to  come  out,  as  he  has  already  dried  the  walks 
in  the  garden  below,  and  called  forth  a  little  grass  on  the  plat.  And 
your  rolling-chair  stands  all  ready,  my  lord  and  husband,  and  your  Puck, 
as  you  see,  has  already  put  on  her  furs,  and  clad  herself  in  armor 
against  the  winter,  which,  however,  is  not  there! 

Well  then,  help  me,  my  dearest  Puck,  so  that  I  can  arise,  and  obey 
the  command  of  the  butterfly  and  the  sun  and  my  lovely  wife,  cried 
the  King,  as  he  put  his  arm  around  Catharine's  neck,  and  slowly  raised 
himself  from  the  couch. 

She  busied  herself  about  him  with  officious  haste  ;  she  put  her  arm 
tenderly  on  his  shoulder  and  supported  him  ;  and  properly  arranged  for 
him  the  gold  chain,  which  had  slipped  out  of  place  on  his  doublet,  and 
playfully  plaited  the  lace  ruff  which  was  about  his  neck. 

Is  it  your  order,  my  husband,  that  your  servants  come  ? — The  Master 
of  Ceremonies,  who,  without  doubt,  awaits  your  beck  in  the  anteroom 
— the  Lord  Bishop — who  awhile  ago  made  such  a  black  looking  face  at 
me?  But  how?  my  husband,  your  face,  too,  is  now  in  an  eclipse? 
How?  Has  your  Puck  perchance  said  something  to  put  you  out  of 
tune  ? 

No,  indeed  !  said  the  King  gloomily  ;  but  he  avoided  meeting  her 
smiling  glance  and  looking  in  her  charming,  rosy  face. 

The  evil  thoughts  had  again  awoke  in  him ;  and  now  he  remembered 
the  warrant  of  arrest  that  he  had  given  Gardiner.  He  remembered  it; 
and  he  regretted  it.  For  she  was  so  fair  and  lovely — his  young  Queen; 
she  understood  so  well  by  her  jests  to  smooth  away  care  from  his  brow 
and  affright  vexation  from  his  soul.  She  was  such  an  agreeable  and 
sprightly  pastime,  such  a  refreshing  means  of  driving  away  the  ennui. 

Not  for  her  sake  did  he  regret  what  he  had  done,  but  only  on  his  own 
account.  From  selfishness  alone,  he  repented  having  issued  that  order 
for  the  Queen's  imprisonment.  Catharine  observed  him.  Her  glance, 
sharpened  by  inward  fear,  read  his  thoughts  on  his  brow,  and  under- 
stood the  sigh  which  involuntarily  arose  from  his  breast.  She  again 
seized  courage  ;  she  might  succeed  in  turning  away  by  a  smile  the  sword 
that  hung  over  her  head. 

Come,  my  lord  and  husband,  said  she  cheerfully,  the  sun  beckons  to 


Ill) 

us,  and  the  trees  shake  their  beads  indignantly  because   we  are  not  jet 
there. 

Yes,  come,  Kate,  said  the  King  rousing  himself  with  an  effort  from  his 
brown  study  ;  come,  we  will  go  down  into  God's  free  air.  Perhaps  He 
is  nearer  to  us  there,  and  may  illuminate  us  with  good  thoughts  and 
wholesome  resolutions.     Come,  Kate. 

The  Queen  gave  him  her  arm,  and,  supported  on  it,  the  King  ad- 
vanced a  few  steps.  But  suddenly  Catharine  stood  still;  and  as  the 
King  fastened  on  her  his  inquiring  K>ok,  she  blushed  and  cast  down  her 
eyes. 

Well?  asked  the  King.     Why  do  you  linger? 

Sire,  1  was  considering  your  words;  and  what  you  say  about  the  sun 
and  wholesome  resolutions,  has  touched  my  heart  and  startled  my  con- 
science. My  husband,  you  are  right;  God  is  there  without,  and  I  dare 
not  venture  to  beFiold  the  sun,  which  is  God's  eye,  before  I  have  made 
.  my  confession  and  received  absolution.  Sire,  I  am"  a  great  sinner,  and 
my  conscience  gives  me  no  rest.  Will  you  be  my  confessor,  and  listen 
to  me  1 

The  King  sighed.     Ah,  thought,  he,  she  is  hurrying   to  destruction, 
and  by  her  own  confession  of  guilt  she  will  make  it  impossible  for  me 
to  hold  her  guiltless  ! 
•     Speak  !  said  he  aloud. 

Fir*t,  said  she  with  downcast  eyes — first,  I  must  confess  to  you  that 
I  have  to-day  deceived  you,  my  loid  and  King.  Vanity  and  sinful  pride 
enticed  me  to  this;  and  childish  anger  made  me  consummate  what 
vanil)  whispered  to  me.  But  1  repent,  my  King  ;  I  repent  from  the 
bottom  of  my  soul,  and  I  swear  to  you,  my  husband — yes,  I  swear  to 
you  by  all  that  is  sacred  to  me,  that  it  is  the  first  and  only  time  th;it  I 
have  deceived  you.  And  never  will  I  venture  to  do  it  again,  for  it  is  a 
dismal  and  awful  feeling  to  stand  before  you  with  a  guilty  conscience. 

And  in  what  have  you  deceived  us,  Kate?  asked  the  King  ;  and  his 
voice  trembled. 

Catharine  drew  from  her  dress  a  small  roll  of  paper  and,  humbly- 
bowing,  handed  it  to  the  King.  Take  and  see  for  yourself,  my  husband, 
said  she. 

With  hurried  hand  the  King  opened  the  paper,  and  then  looked  in 
utter  astouishment,  now  at  its  contents,  now  at  the  blushing  face  of  the 
Queen. 

What?  said  he.  You  give  me  a  pawn  fioni  the  chess  board  ?  What 
does  that  mean  ? 

That  means-,  said  she  in  a  tone  of  utter  contrition — that,  means,  that 
1  stole  it,  from  you,  and  thereby  cheated  you  out  of  your  victory.  Oh, 
pardon  me,  my  husband,  but  I  could  no  longer  endure  to  always  lose, 
and  I  was  afraid  you  would  no  mo  a  allow  me  the  pleasure  of  playing 
with  you,  when  you  perceived  whai  a  weak  and  contemptible  antagonist 
I  am.  And  behold,  this  little  pawn  was  my  enemy.  It  stood  near  my 
queen  and  threatened  her  with  eh'-^k  while  it  discovered  check   to  my 


12Q 

king  from  your  bishop.  You  were  just  going  to  make  this  move,  which 
was  ruin  to  me,  when  Bishop  Gardiner  entered.  You  turned  away  your 
eyes  and  saluted  him.  You  were  not  looking  on  the  game — Oh,  my 
lord  and  husband,  ihe  temptation  was  too  alluring  aud  seductive;  and 
1  yielded  to  it.  Softly  1  took  the  pawn  from  the  board,  and  slipped  it 
into  my  pocket.  When  you  looked  again  at  the  game,  you  seemed  sur- 
. prised  fit  first ;  but  your  magnanimous  and  lofty  spirit  had  no  suspicion 
of  my  base  act;  so  you  innocently  played  on  ;  and  so  1  won  the  game 
of  chess.     Oh,  my  King,  will  you  pardon  me,  and  not  be  angry  with  me. 

The  King  broke  out  into  a  loud  laugh  and  looked  with  an  expression 
of  tenderness  at  Catharine,  who  stood  before  him  with  downcast  eyes, 
abashed  and  blushing.  This  sight  only  redoubled  his  merriment  and 
made  him  again  and  again  roar  out  anew  with  laughter. 

And  that  is  all  your  crime,  Kate?  asked  he  at  length  drying  his  eyes. 
You  have  stolen  a  pawn  from  me — this  is  your  first  and  only  deception  ? 

Is  it  not  indeed  great  enough,  Sire'?  Did  I  not  purloin  it  because  I 
was-  .-o'  highminded  as  to  want  to  win  a  game  of  chess  from  you?  Is 
not  the  whole  Court  even  now. acquainted  with  my  splendid  luck  ?  And 
does  it  not  know  that  I  have  been  the  victor  to-day,  whilst  yet  I  was  not 
entitled  to  be  so — whilst  I  deceived  you  so  shamefully  ? 

Now  verily,  said  the  King  solemnly,  happy  are  the  men,  who  are  not 
worse  deceived  by  their  wives  than  you  have  deceived  me  today;  and 
happy  are  the  women,  whose  confessions  are  so  pure  and  innocent  as 
yours  have  been  to  day!  Do  but  lift  up  your  eyes  again,  my  Katie, 
that  sin  is  forgiven  you  ;  and  by  God  and  by  your  King  it  shall  be  ac- 
counted to  you  as  a  virtue. 

.  He  laid  his  hand  on  her  head,  as  if  in  blessing,  and  gazed  at  her  long 
and  silently.  Then  he  said  laughingly  :  According  to  this  then,  my  Kate, 
1  should  have  been  the  victor  to  day,  and  not  have  lost  that  game  of 
chess. 

No,  said  she  dolefully,  I  must  have  lost  it,  if  I  had  not  stolen  the 
pawn. 

Again  the  King  laughed.  Catharine  said  earnestly:  Do  but  be- 
lieve me,  my  husband.  Bishop  Gardiner  alone  is  the  cause  of  my  fall. 
Because  he  was  by,  1  did  not  want  to  lose.  My  pride  revolted,  to  think 
that  this  haughty  and  arrogant  priest  was  to  be  witness  of  my  defeat. 
In  mind,  I  already  saw  the  cold  and  contemptuous  smile  with  which  he 
would  look  down  on  me,  the  vanquished  ;  and  my  heart  rose  in  rebel- 
lion at  the  thought  of  being  humbled  before  him.  And  now  I  have  ar- 
rived at  the  second  part  of  my  fault  which  I  want  to  confess  to  you  to- 
day. Sire,  1  must  acknowledge  another  great  fault  to  you.  I  have 
grievously  offended  against  you  today,  in  that  I  contradicted  you,  and 
withstood  your  wise  and  pious  words.  Ah,  my  husband,  it  was  not  done 
to  spite  you,  but  only  to  vex  and  annoy  the  haughty  priest.  For  1  must 
qonfess  to  you,  my  King,  I  hate  this  Bishop  of  Winchester — aye,  yet 
more — 1  have  a  dread  of  him  ;  for  my  foreboding  heart  tells  me,  that  he 
is  my  enemy,  that  he  is  watching  each  of  my  looks,  each  of  my  words, 


so  that  he  can  make  from  them  a  noose  to  strangle  me.  lie  is  the  evil 
destiny,  that  creeps  up  behind  me  and  would  one  day  certainly  destroy 
me,  if  your  beneficent  hand  and  your  almighty  arm  did  not  protect  me. 
Oh,  when  I  behold  him,  my  husband,  1  would  always  gladly  fly  to  your 
heart,  and  say  to  you  :  Protect  me,  my  King,  and  have  compassion  on 
me.  Have  faith  in  me  and  love  me  ;  for  if  you  do  not,  I  am  lost !  The 
evil  fiend  is  there  to  destroy  me. 

And  as  she  thus  spoke,  she  clung  affectionately  to  the  King's  side  and 
leaning  her  head  on  his  breast,  looked  up  to  him  with  a  look  of  tender 
entreaty,  and  touching  devotion. 

The  King  bent  down  and  kissed  her  brow.  Oh,saneta  simplicilas, 
softly  murmured  he — she  knows  not  how  nigh  she  is  to  the  truth,  and 
how  much  reason  she  has  for  her  evil  forebodings !  Then  he  asked  aloud: 
So,  Kate,  you  believe  that  Gardiner  hates  you? 

I  do  not  believe  it,  I  know  it !  said  she.  He  wo.unds  me  wherever 
he  can  ;  and  though  his  wounds  are  made  only  with  pins,  that  comes  only 
from  this,  that,  he  is  afraid  that  you  might  discover  it  if  he  drew  a  dag- 
ger on  me,  whilst  you  might  not  notice  the  pin,  with  which  he  secretly 
wounds  me.  And  what  was  his  coining  here  today,  other  than  a  new 
assault  on  me?  He  knows  very  well — and  I  have  never  made  a  secret 
of  it — that  I  am  an  enemy  to  this  Roman  Catholic  religion,  the  Rope  of 
■which  has  dared  hurl  his  ban  against  my  lord  and  husband  ;  and  that  [ 
s«ek  with  lively  interest  to  be  instructed  as  to  the  doctrine  and  religion 
of  the  so-called  Reformers. 

They  say  that  you  are  a  heretic,  said  the  King  gravely. 

Gardiner  says  that !  But  if  I  am  so,  you  are  so  too,  my  King  ;  for 
your  belief  is  mine.  If  1  am  so,  so  too  is  Cranmer,  the  noble  Archbishop 
of  Canterbury  ;  for  he  is  my  spiritual  adviser  and  helper.  But  Gardi- 
ner wishes  that  1  were  a  heretic,  and  he  wants  me  likewise  to  appear  so 
to  you.  See,  my  husband,  why  it  was  that  he  laid  those  eight  death 
warrants  before  you  awhile  ago.  There  were  eight,  all  heretics,  whom 
you  were  to  condemn — not  a  single  papist  among  themj  and  yet  I  know 
that  the  prisons  are  full  of  papists,  who,  in  the  fanaticism  of  their  perse 
cuted  faith,  have  spoken  words  just  as  worthy  of  punishment,  as  those 
unfortunate  ones  whom  you  were  today  to  send  from  life  to  death  by 
a  stroke  of  your  pen.  Sire,  1  should  have  prayed  you,  just  ns  fervently, 
just  as  suppliant!)-,  had  they  been  papists  whom  you  we;e  to  sentence 
to  death!  But  Gardiner  wanted  a  proof  of  my  heresy;  and  therefore  he 
selected  eight  heretics,  for  whom  I  was  to  oppose  your  hard  decree. 

It  is  true,  said  the  King  thoughtfully  ;  there  was  not  a  single  papist 
among  them  !  But  tell  me,  Kate — are  you  really  a  heretic,  and  an  ad- 
versary of  your  King  ?  • 

With  a  sweet  smile  she  looked  deep  into  his  eyes,  and  humbly  cross- 
ed her  arms  over  her  beautiful  breast.  Your  adversary  ?  whispered  she. 
Are  you  not  my  husband  and  my  lord  ?  Was  not  the  woman  made  to 
be  subject  to  the  mau?  The  man  was  created  after  the  likeness  of  God, 
and  the  woman  after  the  likeucss  of  the  man.     So  the  woman  is  only 


1  •>  > 

the  man's  second  self;  and  he  must  have  compassion  on  her  in  love; 
and  he  must  give  her  of  his  spirit,  and  influence  her  understanding  from 
his  understanding.  Therefore  your  duty  is  to  instruct  me,  my  husband  ; 
and  mine  i's,  to  learn  of  you.  And  of  all  the  women  in  the  world,  to  no 
oue  is  this  dutry  made  so  easy  as  to  me ;  for  God  has  been  gracious  to 
me  and  given  me  as  my  husband,  a  King  whose  prudence,  wisdom  and 
learning  are  the  wonder  of  all  the  world.* 

What  a  sweet  little  flatterer  you  are,  Kate,  said  the  King  with  a  smile ; 
:md  with  what  a  charming  vOice,  you  want  to  conceal  the  truth  from  us  ! 
The  truth  is,  that  you  yourself  are  a  very  learned  little  body,  who  has 
no  need  at  all  to  learn  anything  from  others,  but  who  would  be  well 
able  to  instruct  others.^ 

Oh,  if  it  is  so  as  you  say,  cried  Catharine,  well,  then  would  I  teach 
the  whole  world  to  love  my  King  as  1  do,  and  to  -be  subject  to  him  in 
humility,  faithfulness  and  obedience,  as  I  am. 

.  And  as  she  thus  spoke,  she  threw  both  her  arms  about  the  King's 
neck  and  leant  her  head  with  a  languishing  expression  upon  his  breast. 

The  King  kissed  her,  and  pressed  her  fast  to  his  heart.  He  thought 
no  longer  of  the  danger  that  was  hovering  over  Catharine's  head  ;  he 
thought  only  that  he  loved  her,  and  that  life  would  be  very  desolate, 
very  tedious  and  sad  without  her. 

And  now,  my  husband,  said  Catharine,  gently  disengaging  herself 
from  him — now,  since  I  have  confessed  to  you  and  received  absolution 
from  you — now  let  us  go  down  into  the  garden,  so  that  God's  bright 
sun  may  shine  into  our  hearts  fresh  and  glad.  Come,  my  husband,  your 
chair  is  ready  ;  and  the  bees  and  the  butterflies,  the  gnats  and  the  flies, 
have  already  practiced  a  hymn,  with  which  they  are  going  to  greet  you, 
my  husband. 

Laughing  and  jesting,  she  drew  him  along  to  the  adjoining  room, 
where  the  courtiers  and  the  rolling-chair  were  standing  ready  ;  and  the 
King  mounted  his  triumphal  car,  and  allowed  himself  to  be  rolled 
through  the  carpeted  corridors,  and  down  the  staircases  transformed  into 
broad  inclined  planes  of  marble,  into  the  garden. 

The  air  had  the  freshness  of  winter,  and  the  warmth  of  spring.  The 
grass  like  a  diligent  weaver  was  already  beginning  to  weave  a  carpet 
over  the  black  level  of  the  square;  and  already  here  and  there  a  tiny 
blossom,  curious  and  bashful,  was  peeping  out  and  seemed  to  be  smiling 
in  astonishment  at  its  own  premature  existence.  The  sun  seemed  so 
warm  and  bright;  the  heavens  were  so  blue;  at  the  King's  side  went 
Catharine,  with  such  rosy  cheeks  and  sparkling  eyes.  Those  eyes  were 
always  directed  to  her  husband  ;  and  her  charming  prattle  was  to  the 
King  like  the  melodious  song  of  birds,  and  made  his  heart  leap  for  pleas 
ure  arid  delight.  But  howr  ?  What  noise  all  at  once  drowned  Catha- 
rine's sweet  prattle  ?     And  what  was  it,  that  flashed  up  there  at  the  end 

*  The  Queen's  own  words,  as  they  have  been  given  by  all  historical  writers.  See  on'  this  point — 
Burnet,  vol.  1,  page  S4;  Tytler,  page  418;  Larrey's  Histoire  d'Angleterre,  vol.  2,  page  201 ;  Lett, 
vol.  1,  page  154. 

t  Historical    The  King's  own  words. 


'     1  ii 

of  that  large  alley  which  the  royal  pair  with  their  suite  had  just  entered? 

It  was  the  noise  of  soldiers  advancing  ;  and  shining  helmets  and* coats 
of  mail  flashed  in  the  sunlight.. 

One  band  of  soldiers  held  the  outlet  from  the  alley  ;  another  advanced 
up  it  in  close  order.  At  their  head  were  seen  striding  along  Gardiner 
and  Earl  Douglas,  and  at  their  side  the  Lieutenant  of  the  Tower. 

The  King's  countenance  assumed  a  lowering  and  angry  expression, 
and  his  cheeks  were  suffused  with  crimson.  With  the  quickness  of  youth 
he  rose  from  his  chair,  and  raised  to  his  full  height,  he  looked  with  fla- 
ming eyes  at  the  procession. 

The  Queen  seized  his  hand  and  pressed  it  to  her  breast.  Ah,  said  she 
in  a  low  whisper,  protect  me,  my  husband,  for  fear  already  overpowers 
me  again.     It  is  my  enemy — it  is  Gardiner,  that  comes — and  I  tremble. 

You  shall  no  longer  tremble  before  him,  Kate  !  said  the  King.  Woe 
to  them,  that  dare  make  King  Henry's  consort  tremble  !  1  will  speak 
with  Gardiner.. 

And  almost  roughly  pushing  aside  the  Queen,  the  King,  utterly  heed- 
less in  his  violent  excitement  of  the  pain  of  his  foot,  went  in  a  quick 
pace  to  meet  the  advancing  troop. 

He  ordered  them  by  his  gesture  to  halt,  and  called  Gardiner  and 
Douglas  to  him.  What  want  you  here?  And  what  means  this  strange 
array  ?  asked  he  in  a  rough  tone. 

The  two  courtiers  stared  at  him  with  looks  of  amazement,  and  durst 
not  answer  him. 

Well?  asked  the  King  with  ever  rising  wrath,  will  you  at  length  tell 
me,  by  what  right  you  intrude  into  my  garden  with  an  armed  host — 
specially  at  the  same  hour  that  lam  here  with  my  consort?  Verily, 
there  is  no  sufficient  e.\cuse  for  such  a  gross  violation  of  the'  reverence 
which  you  owe  your  King  and  master  ;,  and  1  marvel,  my  Lord  Master 
of  Ceremonies,  that  you  did  not  seek  to  prevent  this  indecorum  ! 

Earl  Douglas  muttered  a  few  words  of  apology,  which  the  King  did 
not  understand,  or  did  not  want  to  understand. 

The  duty  of  a  master  of  ceremonies  is  to  protect  his  King  from  every 
annoyance,  and  you,  Earl  Douglas,  offer  it  to  me  yourself.  Perchance 
you  want  thereby  to  show  that  you  are  weary  of  your  office.  Well  then, 
my  Lord,  I  dismiss  you  from  it,  and. that  your  presence  may  not  re- 
mind me  of  this  morning's  disagreeability,  you  will  leave  the  Court  and 
London!     Farewell,  my  Lord  ! 

Earl  Douglas,  turning  pale  and  trembling,  staggered  a  few  steps  back- 
ward, and  gazed  at  the  King  with  looks  of  amazement.  He  wanted  to 
speak,  but  the  King,  with  a  commanding  wave  of  the  hand,  bade  him  be 
silent. 

And  now  for  you,  my  Lord  Bishop  !  said  the  King,  and  his  eyes  were 
turned  on  Gardiner  with  an  expression  so  wrathful  and  contemptuous, 
that  he  turned  pale  and  looked  down  to  the  ground.  What  means  this 
strange  train,  with  which  the  priest  of  God  approaches  his  royal  master 


121 

to  day  ?     And  under  what  impulse  of  Christian  love  are  you  going  to  hold 
to-day  a  heretic  hunt  in  the  garden  of  your  King? 

Sire,  said  Gardiner,  completely  beside  himself,  your  Majesty  well 
knows  why  1  come;  it  was  al  your  Majesty 's  command,  that  1  with  Earl 
Douglas  and  the  Liutenant  of  the  Tower  came,  in  order  to 

Dare  not  to  speak  farther !  yelled  the  King,  whom  it  made  raving, 
that  Gardiner  would  wot  understand  him  and  comprehend  the  altered 
state  of  the  King's  mind.  How  dare  you  make  a  pretence  of  my  coni- 
mands.  whilst  1,  full  of  just  amazement,  question  you  as  to  the  cause 
of  your  appearance  ?  That  is  to  say,  you  want  to  charge  your  King 
■with  falsehood.  You  want  to  excuse  yourself  by  accusing  me.  Ah, 
my  worthy  Lord  Bishop,  this  time  you  are  thwartecj,  in  your  plan,  and 
I  disavow  you  and  your  foolish  attempt.  No  !  there  is  nobody  here 
whom  you  shall  arrest ;  and,  by  the  Holy  Mother  of  God,  were  your 
eyes  not  blind,  you  would  have  seen  that  here,  where  the  King  is  tak- 
ing an  airing  with  his  consort,  there  could  be  no  one  whom  these  catch- 
polls had  to  look  for !  The.  presence  of  the  royal  Majesty  is  like  the 
presence  of  God  ;  it  dispenses  happiness  and  peace  about  it ;  and  who 
ever  is  touched  by  its  glory,  is  graced  and  sanctified  thereby. 
"  But,  your  Majesty,  screamed  Gardiner,  whom  anger  and  disappointed 
hope  had  made  forgetful  of  all  considerations,  you  wanted  me  to  arrest 
the  Queen  ;  you  yourself  gave  me  the  order  for  it ;  and  now  when  I 
come  to  execute  your  will — now  you  repudiate  me. 

The  King  uttered  a  yell  of  rage,  and  with  lifted  arm  moved  some 
steps  towards  Gardiner. 

But  suddenly  he  feh  his  arm  held  back.  It  was  Catharine,  who  had 
hurried  up  to  the  King.  Oh,  my  husband,  said  she  in  a  low  whisper, 
whatever  he  may  have  done,  spare  him  !  Still  he  is  a  priest  of  the  Lord  ; 
and  so  let  his  sacred  robe  protect  him,  though  perchance  his  deeds  con- 
demn him ! 

Ah>  do  you  plead  for  him  ?  cried  the  King.  Really,  my  poor  wife, 
you  suspect  not  how  little  ground  you  have  to  pity  him,  and  to  beg 
my  mercy  for  him.*  But  you  are  right !  We  will  respect  his  cassock, 
and  think  no  more  of  what  a  haughty  and  intriguing  man  is  wrapped  in 
it.  Bat  beware,  priest,  that  you  do  not  again  remind  me  of  that.  My 
wrath  would  then  inevitably  strike  you  ;  and  I  should  have  as  little 
mercy  for  you,  as  you  say  I  ought  to  show  to  other  evil-doers.  And 
inasmuch  as  you  are  a  priest,  be  penetrated  with  a  sense  of  the  gravity  of 
your  office,  and  the  sacredness  of  your  calling.  Your  Episcopal  See  is 
at  Winchester,  and  I  think  your  duties  call  you  thither.  We  no  longer 
need  you,  for  the  noble  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  is  coming  back  to  us, 
and  will  have  to  fulfill  the  duties  of  his  office  near  us  and  the  Queen. 
Farewell! 

He  turned  his  back  on  Gardiner  and,  supported  on  Catharine's  arm, 
.returned  to  his  rolling  chair. 

Kate,  said  he,  just  now  a  lowering  cloud  stood  in  your  sky,  but  thanks 

*  The  King's  owu  words.    See  Lett,  vol.  1,  page  188. 


125 

to  your  smile  and  your  innocent  face,  it  has  passod  harmlessly  over. 
Mothinks  we  still  owe  you  special  thanks  for  ihis;  and  we  would  Jike 
to  show  jou  that,  by  some  office  of  love.  Is  there  nothing  that  would 
give  you  special  delight,  Kate'? 

Oh  yes,  said  she  with  fervor.     Two  great  desires  hum  in  my  heart. 

Then  name  them,  Kate;  and  by  the  Mother  of  God,  if  it  is  in  the 
power  of  a  king  to  fulfill  them,  I  will  do  it 

Catharine  seized  his  hand  and  pressed  it  to  her  heart.  Sire,  s- aid  she, 
they  wanted  to  have  you  sign  eight  death  Warrants  today.  Oh,  my 
husband,  make  of  these  eight  criminal?,  eight  happy,  thankful  subjects  ; 
teach  them  to  love  that  King  whom  they  have  reviled — teach  their  chil- 
dren, their  wives  and  mothers  to  pray  for  you,  whilst  you  restore  lifo 
and  freedom  to  these  fathers,  these  sons  and  husbands,  and  while  you, 
grtat  and  merciful,  like  Deity,  pardon  them. 

So  shall  ir,  be  !  cried  the  King  cheerfully.  Our  hand  shall  have  to- 
day no  other  work  than  to  rest  in  yours;  and  we  will  spare  it  from 
making  these  eight  strokes  of  the  pen.  The  eight  evil-doers  are  par- 
doned ;  arid  they  shall  be  f\ee  this  very  day. 

With  an  exclamation  of  rapturous  delight,  Catharine  pressed  ITonry's 
hand  to  her  lips,  and  her  face  shone  with  pure  happiness. 

And  your  second  wish?  asked  the  King. 

My  second  wish,  said  she  with  a  smile,  pleads  for  the  freedom  of  a 
poor  prisoner — for  the  freedom  of  a  human  heart,  Sire 

The  King  laughed.  A  human  heart?  Does  that  then  run  about  on 
the  street,  so  that  it  can  be  caught  and  made  a  prisoner  of? 

Sire,  you  have  found  it,  and  incarcerated  it  in  your  daughter's  bosom. 
You'want  to  put  Elizabeth's  heart  in  fetters,  and  by  an  unnatural  law 
compel  her  to  renounce  her  freedom  of  choice.  Only  think — to  want  to 
bid  a  woman's  heart,  before  she  can  love,  .to  enquire  first,  about  the 
genealogical  tree,  and  to  look  at  the  coat  of  arms,  before  she  notices  the 
man !  / 

Oh,  women,  women,  what  foolish  children  you  are  though  !  cried  the 
King  laughingly.  The  question  is  abont  fhrones,  and  you  think  about 
your  hearts  !  Hut  come,  Kate,  you  shall  still  further  explain  that  (ft 
me  ;  and  we  will  not  take  back  our  word,  for  we  have  given  it  you  from 
a  free  and  glad  heart. 

He  took  the  Queen's  arm,  and,  supported  on  it,  walked  slowly  up  the 
alley  with  her.  The  lords  and  ladies  of  the  Court  followed  them  in  si- 
lence and  at  a  re-ipec'ful  distance  ;  and  no  one  suspected,  that  this  wo- 
man who  was  stepping  along  so  proud  and  magnificent,  had  but  jost  now 
escaped  an  imminent  peril  of  her  life  ;  that  this  man,  who  was  leaning 
on  her  arm  with  such  devoted  tenderness,  had  but  a  few  hours  befoie 
resolved  on  her  destruction.* 

And  whilst  they  both  chatting  confidentially  together  wandered  through 
the  avenues,  two  others  with  drooping  head  and  pale  face  left  the  royal 

•All  this  plot  instigated  by  GnMlncr  against  tho  Queen  is,  In  minutest  details,  historically  true,  and 
is  found  mibitantially  the  same  in  all  historical  works. 


126 

castle,  which  was  to  be  to  them  henceforth  a  lost  paradise.  Sullen  spite 
and  raging  hate  were  in  their  hearts,  but  yet  theyVere  obliged  to  en- 
dure ia  silence ;  they  were  obliged  to  smile  and  to  seem  harmless,  in 
order  not  to  prepare  a  welcome  feast  for  the  malice  of  the  Court.  .  They 
felt  the  spiteful  looks  of  all  these  courtiers,  although  they  passed  by 
them  with  downcast  eyes.  They  imagined  they  heard  their  malicious 
whispers,  their  derisive  laughter ;  and  it  pierced  their  heart  like  the  stab 
of  a  dagger. 

At  length  they  had  surmounted  it — at  length  the  palace  lay  behind 
them,  and  they  were  at  least  free  to  pour  out  in  words  the  agony  that 
consumed  them — free  to  be  able  to  break  out  into  bitter  execrations,  in- 
to curses  and  lamentations. 

Lost!  all  is  lost!  said  Earl  Douglas  to  himself  in  a  hollow  voice.,  I 
am  thwarted  in  all  my*  plans.  1  have  sacrificed  to  the  Church  my  life, 
my  means,  aye,  even  my  daughter,  and  it  has  all  been  in  vain.  And 
like  a  beggar,  1  now  stand  on  the  street  forsaken  and  without  comfort ; 
and  our  holy  mother  the  Church  will  no  longer  heed  the  son  who  loved 
her  and  sacrificed  himself  for  her,  since  he  was  unfortunate,  and  his  sac- 
rifice unavailing. 

Despair  hot  !  said  Gardiner  solemnly.  Clouds  gather  above  us  ;  but 
they  are  dispersed  again.  And  after  the  day  of  storm,  comes  again  the 
day  of  light.  Our  day  also  will  come,  my  friend.  Now  we  go  hence, 
our  heads  strewn  with  ashes,  and  bowed  at  heart;  but,  believe  me,  we 
shall  one  day  come  again  with  shining  face  and  exultant  heart;  and  the 
flaming  sword  of  godly  wrath  will  glitter  in  our  hands,  and.  a  purple 
robe  will  enfold  us,  dyed  in  the  blood  of  heretics  whom  we  will  offer  up 
to  the  Lord  our  God  as  a  well  pleasing  sacrifice.  God  spares  us  for  a 
better  time  ;  and  our  banishment,  believe  me,  friend,  is  but  a  refuge  that 
God  has  prepared  us  for  this  evil  time,  which  we  are  approaching. 

You  speak  of  an  evil  time,  and  nevertheless  you  hope,  your  Highness  1 
asked  Douglas  gloomily. 

And  nevertheless  I  hope!  said  Gardiner  with  a  strange  and  horrible 
smile,  and  bending  down  closer  to  Douglas,  he  whispered  :  the  King  has 
only  a  few  days  more  to  live.  He  does  not  suspect  how  near  he  is  to 
his  death,  and  nobody  has  the  courage  to  tell  him.  But  his  physician 
has  confided  it  to  me.  His  vital  forces  are  consumed,  and  death  stands 
akeady  before  his  door  to  throttle  him. 

And  when  he  is  dead,  said  Earl  Douglas  shrugging  his  shoulders,  his 
son  Edward  will  be  King,  and  those  heretical  Seymours  will  control  the 
helm  of  State  !     Call  you  that  hope,  your  Highness1? 

i  call  it  so. 

Do  you  not  know  that  Edward,  young  as  he  is,  is  nevertheless  a  fana- 
tical adherent  of  the  heretical  doctrine,  and  at  the  same  time  a  furious 
opponent  of  the  Church  in  which  alone  is  salvation  1 

1  know  it,  but  I  know  also,  that  Edward  is  a  feeble  boy  ;  and  there  is 
current  in  our  Church  a  holy  prophecy,  which  predicts  that  his  reign  is 
only  of  short  duration.     God  only   knows   what  his  death  will  be,  but 


127 

the  Church  has  often  before  seen  her  enemies  die  a  sudden,  death.  Death 
has  been  often  before  this,  the  most  effective  ally  of  our  holy  mother 
the  Church.  Believe  me  then,  my  son,  and  hope,  for  I  tell  you  Ed- 
ward's  rule  will  be  of  brief  duration.  And  after  him,  she  will  a>cend  the 
throne,  the  noble  and  devout  Mary,  the  rigid  Catholic,  who  hates  here- 
tics as  much  as  Edward  loves  them.  Oh,  friend,  when  Mary  ascends 
the  throne,  we  shall  rise  from  our  humiliation,  and  the  dominion  will  be 
ours.  Then  will  all  England  become,  as  it  were,  a  single  great  temple, 
and  the  fagot  piles  about  the  stake  are  the  altars  on  which  wc  will  con- 
sume the  heretics,  and  their  shrieks  of  agony  arc  the  holv  psalms,  which 
we  will  make  them  strike  up  to  the  honor  of  God  and  his  Holy  Church. 
Hope  for  this  time,  for  I  tell  you  it  will  goon  come. 

If  you  say  so,  your  Highness,  then  it  will  come  to  pass,  said  Douglas 
significantly.  1  will  then  hope  and  wait;  1  will  save  myself  from  evil 
d:\ys  in  Scotland,  and  wait  for  the  good. 

And  I  go,  as  this  King  by  the  wrath  of  God  has  commanded,  to  my 
Episcopal  seat.  The  wrath  of  God  will  soon  call  Henry  hence.  May 
his  dying  hour  be  full  of  torment,  and  may  the  Holy  Father's  curse  be 
realized  and  fulfilled  in  him  !  Farewell !  We  go  with  palms  of  peace 
forced  on  us ;  but  we  will  return  with  the  flaming  sword,  and  our  hands 
will  be  dripping  with  heretic  blood. 

They  once  more  shook  hands  and  silently  departed,  and  before  even- 
ing came  on  they  had  both  left  London.* 

A  short  time  after  this  eventful  walk  in  the  garden  of  Whitehall,  the 
Queen  entered  the  apartments  of  the  Princess  Elizabeth,  who  hastened 
to  meet  her  with  a  burst  of  joy  and  cla>ped  her  wildly  in  her  arms. 

Saved  !  whispered  she.  The  dagger  is  overcome,  and  again  you  arc 
the  mighty  Queen,  the  adored  wife! 

And  1  have  you  to  thank,  that  1  am  so.  Princess  !  Without  that,  war- 
rant of  arrest,  which  you  brought  me,  I  was  lost.  Oh,  Elizabeth,  but 
what  a  martyrdom  it  was  !  To  smile  and  jest,  whilst  my  heart  trembled 
with  dread  and  horror-  to  appear  innocent  and  unembarrassed,  whilst  it. 
seemed  to  me,  as  if  I  heard  already  the  whiz  of  the  axe  that,  was  about 
to  strike  my  neok !  Oh.  my  God,  I  passed  through  the  agonies  and  the 
dread  of  a  whole  lifetime  in  that  one  hour.  My  soul  has  been  harr  i 
till  it  is  wearied  to  death,  and  my  strength  is  exhausted.     I  could  weep, 

*  Gardiner's  prophecy  was  soon  fulfilled.  A  few  days  after  Oardiner  had  fallen  into  disgrace' 
llenrv  the  Eighth  died,  and  his  son  Edward,  yet  a  minor,  ascended  the  throne.  Bui  his  rule  was 
of  brief  duration.  After  a  reipn  of  scarcely  six  years,  he  died  a  youth  of  tin*  ago  of  sixteen  years, 
and  his  sifter  Mary,  called  the  (  at/iolic,  ascended  the  throne.  Her  first  act. was  to  release  Gardi- 
ner, who  under  Edward's  reign  had  been  confined  as  a  prisoner  in  the  Tower,  and  to  appoint  him 
her  Minister,  and  later,  to  the  place  of  Lord  Chancellor.  Tie  was  one  of  the  most  furious  persecu- 
tors of  the  Reformers.  Once  he  said  at  a  council  in  the  presence  of  the  bigoted  Queen  :  ''These  he- 
retics have  a  soul  so  black,  that  it  can  be  washed  clean  only  in  their  own  blood."  He  it  was  too,  who 
urged  the  Queen  to  snch  severo  and  odious  measures  against  the  Princess  Elizabeth, and  caused  her 
to  be  a  second  time  declared  a  bastard  and  unworthy  of  succefding  to  the  throne  When  Mary  died, 
Gardiner  performed,  in  Westminster  Abbey,  where  she  was  entombed,  the  service  for  the  dead,  m 
the  presence  of  her  successor,  Queen  Elizabeth.  Gardiner's  discourse  was  an  enthusiastic  culo- 
gium  of  the  deceased  Qneen,  and  he  set  forth  as  her  special'merit,  that  she  had  hated  the  heretics  so 
ardently  and  h»d  so  many  of  them  executed,  lie  closed  with  an  invective  against  tho  Trotettants, 
in  which  he  so  little  spared  the  young  Queen,  and  spnlfe  of  her  In  such  injurious  terms,  that  ho  was 
that  very  day  committed  to  prison.— Lett,  rot  1,  page  811. 


123 

weep  continually  over  this  wretched,  deceitful  world,  in  which,  to  wish 
right  and  to  do  good  avail  nothing;  but  in  which  you  must  dissemble  and 
lie,  deceive  and  disguise  yourself,  if  you  do  not  want  to  fall  a  victim  to 
wickedness  and  mischief.  But,  ah  Elizabeth,  even  my  tears  [  dare  shed 
only  in  secret,  for  a  queen  has  no  right  to  be  melancholy.  She  must 
seem  ever  cheerful,  ever  happy  and  contented ;  and  only  God  and  the 
still,  silent  night  know  her  sighs  and  her  tears. 

And  you  may  let  me  also  see  them,  Queen,  said  Elizabeth  heartily  ; 
for  you  well  know  you  may  trust  and  rely  on  me. 

Catharine  kissed  her. fervently.  You  have  done  me  a  great  service  to- 
day, and  I  have  come,  said  she,  to  thank  you  not  with  sounding  words 
only,  but  by  deeds  Elizabeth,  yonr  wish  will  be  fulfilled.  The  King 
will  repeal  the  law,  which  was  to  compel  you  to  give  your  hand  only  to 
a  husband  of  equal  birth. 

Oh,  cried  Elizabeth  with  flashing  eyes,  then  I  shall,  perhaps,  some 
day  be  able  to  make  him   whom  I  love,  a  king. 

Catharine  smiled.  You  have  a  proud  and  ambitious  heart,  said 
she.  God  has  endowed  you  with  extraordinary  ability.  Cultivate 
it  and  seek  to  increase  it;  for  my  prophetic  heart  tells  me,  that 
you  are  destined  to  become  one  day  Queen  of  England.*  But  who 
knows  whether  then  you  will  still  wish  to  elevate  him  whom  you  now 
love,  to  be  your  hjsband.  A  queen,  as  you  will  be,  sees  with  other 
eyes  than  those  of  a  young,  inexperienced  maiden.  Perchance  I  may 
not  have  done  right  in  moving  the  King  to  alter  this  law  ;  for  I  am  not 
acquainted  with  the  man  that  you  love;  and  who  knows  whether  he  is 
worthy  that  you  should  bestow  on  him  your  heart,  so  innocent  and  pure  ! 

Elizabeth  threw  both  her  arms  ab»ut  Catharine  neck,  and  clung  ten- 
derly to  her.  Oh,  said  she,  he  would  be  worthy  to  be  loved  even  by 
you,  Catharine;  for  he  is  the  noblest  and  handsomest  cavalier  in  the 
whole  world;  and  though  he  is  no  king,  yet  he  is  a  king's  brother-in-law, 
and  will  some  day  be  a  king's  uncle. 

Catharine  felt  her  heart,  as  it  were,  convulsed,  .and  a  slight  tremor  ran 
through  her  frame.      And  am  I  not  to  learn  his  name  ?  asked  she. 

Yes,  I  will  tell  you  it  now  ;  for  now  there  is  no  longer.danger  in  know- 
ing it.     The  name  of  him  whom  I  love,  Queen,  is  Thomas  Seymour. 

Catharine  uttered  a  scream  and  pushed  Elizabeth  passionately  away 
from  her  heart.  Thomas  Seymour?  cried  -she  in  a  menacing  tone. 
What !  do  you  dare  love  Thomas  Seymour  1 

And  why  should  I  not  dare]  asked  the  young  girl  in  astonishment. 
Why  should  I  not  give  him  my  heart,  since,  thanks  to  your  interces- 
sion, I  am  no  longer  bound  to  choose  a  husband  of  equal  birth?  Is  not 
Thomas  Seymour  one  of  the  first  of  this  land  ?  Does  not  all  England 
look  on  him  with  pride  and  tenderness  1  Does  not  every  woman  to 
whom  he  deigns  a  look,  feel  herself  honored  ?  Does  not  the  King  him- 
self smile  and  feel  more  pleased  at  heart,  when  Thomas  Seymour,  that 
young  and  strong,  bold  and  spirited  hero,  stands  by  his  side  ? 
•  Catharine's  own  words.    See  Leti,  toI.  1,  page  172. 


129 

You  are  right !  said  Catharine,  whose  heart  every  one  of  these  enthu- 
siastic words  lacerated  like  the  stab  of  a  dagger, — yes,  you  are  right. 
He  is  worthy  of  being  loved  by  you — and  you  could  hit  upon  no  better 
choice..  It  was  only  the  first  surprise,  that  made  me  see  things  other- 
wise than  they  are.  Thomas  Seymour  is  the  brother  of  a  queen,  why 
then  should  he  not  also  be  the  husband  of  a  royal  princess  ? 

With  a  bashful  blush,  Elizabeth  hid  her  smiling  fuce  in  Catharine's 
bosom.  She  did  not  see  with  what  an  expression  of  alarm  and  agony 
the  Queen  observed  her ;  how  her  lips  were  convulsively  compressed,  and 
her  cheeks  covered  with  a  death-like  pallor. 

And  he  1  asked  she  in  a  low  tone.    Does  Thomas  Seymour  love  you  ? 

Elizabeth  raised  her  head  and  looked  at  the  questioner  in  amazement. 
How1?  said  she.     Is  it  possible  thou  to  love,  if  you  are  not  loved? 

You  are  right,  sighed  Catharine.  One  must  be  very  humble  and  silly 
to  be  able  to  do  that. 

My  God  !  how  pale  you  are,  Queen  !  cried  Elizabeth,  who  just  now 
noticed  Catharine's  pale  face.  Your  features  are  distorted  ;  your  lips 
tremble.     My  God !  what  does  this  mean  1 

It  is  nothing  !  said  Catharne  wilh  a  smile  full  of  agony.  The  excite- 
ment and  alarm  of  to  day  have  exhausted  my  strength.  That  is  all. 
Besides  a  new  grief  threatens  us,  of  which  you  as  yet  know  nothing. 
The  King  is  ill.  A  sudden  dizziness  seized  him,  and  made  him  fall  al- 
most lifeless  at  my  side.  1  came  to  bring  you  the  King's  message ; 
now  duty  calls  me  to  my  husband's  "sick  bed.     Farewell,  Elizabeth. 

She  waved  a  good  bye  to  her  with  her  hand,  and  with  hurried  step 
left  the  room.  She  summoned  up  courage  to  conceal  the  agonies  of  her 
soul  and  to  pass  proud  and  stately  through  the  halls.  To  the  courtiers 
bowing  before  her,  she  would  still  be  the  Queen,  and  no  one  should  sus- 
pect what  agony  was  torturing  her  within  like  flames  of  fire.  But  at 
last  arrived  at  her  boudoir — at  last  sure  of  being  overheard  and  observed 
by  no  one,  she  was  no  longer  the  Queen,  but  only  the  agonizing,  passion- 
ate woman. 

She  sank  on  her  knees,  and  cried  with  a  heartrending  wail  of  anguish  : 
My  God,  my  God,  grant  that  I  may  become  mad,  so  that  I  may  no 
longer  know  that  he  has  forsaken  me. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE    CATASTROPHE. 


Ajter  days  of  secret  torture  and  hidden  tears,  after  nights  of  sobbing 
anguish  and  wailing  sorrow,  Catharine  had  at  last  attained  to  inward 
peace  ;  she  had  at  last  taken  a  firm  and  decisive  resolution. 


U 


130 

The  King  was  sick  unto  death  ;  and  however  much  she  had  suffered 
anfl  endured  from  him,  still  he  was  her^husband;  and  she  would  not 
"stand  by  his  death-bed  as  a  perjured  aud  'deceitful  woman;  she  would 
not  be  constrained  to  cast  down  her  eyes  before  the  failing  gaze  of  the 
dying  King.  She  would  renounce  her  love — that  love,  which  however 
had  been  as  pure  and  chaste  as  a  maiden's  prayer — that  love,  which  was 
as  unapproachably  distant  as  the  blush  of  morn,  and  yet  had  stood  above 
her  so  vast  and  brilliant,  and  had  irradiated  ihe  gloomy  pathway  of  her 
life  with  celestial  light. 

She  would  make  the  greatest  of -aci  ifices;  she  would  give  her  lover  to 
another.  Elizabeth  loved  him  Catharine  would  not  investigate  and 
thoroughly  examine  the  point,  whether  Thomas  Seymour  returned  her 
love,  aud  whether  the  oath  he  had  taken  to  her,  the  Queen,  was  really 
nothing  more  than  a  fancy  of  the  brain,  or  a  falsehood.  No,  she  did 
not  believe  it;  she  did  not  believe  that  Thomas  Seymour  was  capable 
of  treachery,  of  double  dealing.  But  Elizabeth  loved  him;  and  she 
was  young  and  beautiful,  and  a  great  future  lay  before  her.  Catharine 
loved  Thomas  Seymour  strongly  enough  to  not  want  to  deprive  him  of 
this  future,  but  gladly  to  present  herself  a  sacrifice  to  the  happiness  of 
her  lover.  What  was  she — the  woman  matured  in  grief  and  suffering — 
in  comparison  with  this  youthful  and  fresh  blossom,  Elizabeth?  What, 
had  she  to  offer  her  beloved  further  than  a  life  of  retirement,  of  love  and 
of  quiet  happiness  ?  When  once  the  King  is  dead  and  sets  her  free, 
Edward  the  Sixth  ascends  the  throne  ;  .and  Catharine  then  is  nothing 
more  than  the  forgotten  and  disregarded  widow  of  a  king;  while  Eliza- 
beth, the  King's  sister,  may  perhaps  bring  a  crown  as  her  dower  to  him 
whom  she  loves. 

Thomas  Seymour  was  ambitious.  Catharine  knew  that.  A  day  might 
come,  when  he  would  repent  of  having  chosen  the  widow  of  a  king  in- 
stead of  the  heiress  to  the  throne. 

Catharine  would  anticipate  that  day.  She  would  of  her  own  free  will 
resign  her  lover  to  Princess  Elizabeth.  She  had  by  a  struggle  brought 
her  heart  to  this  sacrifice ;  she  had  pressed  her  hands  firmly  on  her 
heart,  so  as  not  to  hear  how  it  wailed  and  wept. 

She  went  to  Elizabeth,  and  said  to  her  with  a  sweet  smile :  To  day  I 
will  bring  your  lover  to  you,  Princess.  The  King  has  fulfilled  his  prom- 
ise. He  has  to-day  with  his  last  dying  strength  signed  this  act,  which 
gives  you  liberty  to  chose  your  husband,  not  from  the  ranks  of  princes 
alone,  but  to  follow  your  own  heart  in  your  choice.  1  will  give  this  act 
to  your  lover,  and  assure  him  of  my  assistance  and  aid.  The  King  is 
suffering  very  much  to  day,  and  his  consciousness  fails  more  and  more. 
But  be  certain,  if  he  is  in  a  condition  to  hear  me,  1  will  spend  all  my 
powers  of  persuasion  in  inclining  him  to  your  wish,  and  in  moving  him 
to  give  his  consent  to  your  marriage  with  Earl  Sudley.  1  now  go  to 
receive  the  Earl.  So  tarry  in  )Our  room,  Princess,  for  Seymour  will 
soon  come  to  bring  you  the  act. 

Whilst  she  thus  spoke,  it  seemed  to  her  as  though  her  heart  were 


131 

pierced  by  red-hot  daggers  ;  as  though  a  two  edged  sword  were  cleaving 
her  breast.  But  Catharine  had  a  strong  and  courageous  soul.  She  had 
sworn  to  herself  to  endure  this  torture  to  the  end  ;  and  she  endured  it. 
No  writhing  of  her  lips,  no  sigh,  no  outcry,  betrayed  the  pain  that  she 
was  suffering.  And  if  indeed  her  cheeks  were  pale,  and  her  eye  dim, 
they  were  so  because  she  had  spent  nights  watching  by  her  husband's 
sick  bed,  and  because  she  was  mourning  for  the  dying  King. 

She  had  the  heroism  to  embrace  tenderly  this  young  maiden  to  whom 
she  was  just  going  to  present  her  love  as  a  sacrifice,  and  to  listen  with  a 
smile. to  the  enthusiastic  words  of  gratitude,  of  rapture  and  expectant 
happiness,  which  Elizabeth  addressed  to  her. 

With  tearless  eyes  and  firm  step  she  returned  to  her  own  apart- 
ments;  and  her  voice  did  not  at  all  tremble,  as  she  bade  the  chamber- 
lain in  attendance  to  summon  to  her  the  Master  of  Horse,  Earl  Sudley. 
Only  she  had  a  feeling  as  though  her  heart  was  broken  and  crushed  ; 
and  quite  softly,  quite  humbly  she  whispered :  I  shall  die  when  he  is 
gone.  But  so  long  as  he  is  here,  I  will  live ;  and  he  shall  not  have  a 
suspicion  of  what  1  suffer ! 

And  while  Catharine  suffered  so  dreadfully,  Elizabeth  was  jubilant 
with  delight  and  rapture  ;  for  at  last  she  stood  at  the  goal  of  her  wishes, 
and  this  very  day  she  was  to  become  the  betrothed  of  her  lover.  Oh, 
my  God,  how  slow  and  sluggish  crept  those  minutes  along  !  How  many 
eternities  had  she  still  to  wait  before  he  would  come — he,  her  lover,  and 
soon  her  husband  ! 

Was  he  already  with  the  Queen?  Could  she  expect  him  already  1 
She  stood  as  if  spell-bound  at  the  window,  and  looked  down  into  the 
court-yard.  Through  that  great  gateway  over  there  he  must  come  ; 
through  that  door  yonder  he  must  go,  in  order  to  reach  the  Queen's 
apartments. 

She  uttered  an  exclamation,  and  a  glowing  blush  flitted  across  her 
face.  There,  there  he  was.  Yonder  drew  up  his  equipage ;  his  gold- 
laced  lackeys  opened  the  door  and  he  alighted.  How  handsome  he  was, 
aud  how  magnificent  to  look  upon  !  How  noble  and  proud  his  tall 
figure  !  How  regularly  beautiful  his  fresh,  youthful  face  !  How  saucy 
the  haughty  smile  about  hit.  mouth  ;  and  how  his  eyes  flamed  and  flash- 
ed and  shone  in  wantonness  and  youthful  happiness.  His  look  glanced 
for  a  moment  at  Elizabeth's  window.  He  saluted  her,  and  then  entered 
the  door  leading  to  the  wing  of  the  palace  of  Whitehall  occupied  hv 
the  Queen.  Elizabeth's  heart  beat  so  violently  that  she  felt  almost  suf- 
focated. Now  he  must  have  reached  the  great  staircase — now  he  was 
above  it — now  he  was  entering  the  Queen's  apartments — he  traverses 
the  first,  the  second,  the  third  chamber.  In  the  fourth,  Catharine  was 
waiting  for  him. 

Oh,  my  God,  Elizabeth  would  have  given  a  year  of  her  life  to  hear 
what  Catharine  would  say  to  him,  and  what  reply  be  would  make  to  the 
surprising  intelligence  ;  a  year  of  her  lile  to  be  able  to  see  his  rapture, 
his  astonishment  and  his  delight. 


132 

i 

He   was  so  handsome  when  he  smiled,  so  bewitching  when  his  eyes 

blazed  with  love  and  pleasure. 

Elizabeth  was  a  young,  impulsive  child.  She  had  a  feeling  as  if  she 
must  suffocate  in  the  agony  of  expectation  ;  her  heart  leaped  into  her 
mouth;  her  breath  was  stifled  in  her  breast.  She  was  so  impatient  for 
happiness. 

Oh,  if  he  does  not  come  soon  I  shall  die,  murmured  she.  Oh,  if  I  could 
only  at  leas,t  see  him,  or  only  hear  him  !  All  at  once  she  stopped  ;  her 
eyes  flashed  up,  and  a  bewitching  smile  flitted  across  her  features.  Yes, 
said  she,  1  will  see  him,  and  I  will  heat  him.  1  can  do  it,  and  1  will  do 
it.  I  have  the  key  which  the  Queen  gave  me,  and  which  opens  the  door 
that  separates  my  rooms  from  hers.  *  With  that  key  I  may  reach  her 
bed-chamber,  and  next  to  the  bed-chamber  is  her  boudoir,  in  which, 
without  doubt,  she  will  receive  the  Earl.  '  I  will  enter  quit«  softly,  and 
hiding  myself  behind  the  hanging  which  separates  the  bed-chamber  from 
the  boudoir,  1  shall  be  able  to  see  him,  and  hear  everything  that  he  says  ! 

She  laughed  out  loud  atfd  merrily  like  a  child,  and  sprang  for  the  key, 
which  lay  on  her  writing  table.  Like  a  trophy  of  victory  she  swung  it 
high  above  her  on  her  hand  and  cried  :  I  will  see  him. 

Then  light,  joyful,  and  with  beaming  eye,  she  lefo  the,  room. 

She  had  conjectured  rightly.  Catharine  received  the  Earl  in  her  bou- 
doir. She  sat  on  the  divan  standing  opposite  the  door  which  led  into 
the  reception  room.  That  door  was  open,  and  so  Catharine  had  a  per- 
fect view  of  the  whole  of  that  large  space.  She  could  see  the  Earl  as 
he  traversed  it.  She  could  once  more  enjoy,  with  a  rapture  painfully 
sweet,  his  proud  beauty,  and  let  her  looks  rest  on  him  with  love  and 
adoration. 

But  at  length  he  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  boudoir ;  and  now  there 
was  an  end  of  her  happiness,  of  her  sweet  dream,  and  of  her  hopes  and 
her- rapture. 

She  was  nothing  more  than  the  Queen,  the  wife  of  a  dying  King;  no 
longer  Earl  Seymour's  beloved,  no  longer  his  future  and  his  happiness. 

She  had  the  courage  to  greet  him  with  a  smile;  and  her  voice  did 
not  tremble,  when  she  bade^him  shut  the  door  leading  into  the  hall,  and 
drop  the  hanging. 

He  did  so,  gazing  at  her  with  looks  of  surprise.  He  did  not  compre- 
hend that  she  dared  give  him  an  interview  ;  for  the  King  was  still  alive, 
aud  even  with  his  tongue  faltering  in  death  he  might  destroy  them  both. 

Why  did  she  not  wait  till  the  morrow?  On  the  morrow  the  King 
might  be  already  dead  ;  and  then  they  could  see  each  other  without 
constraint,  and  without  dinger.  Then  was  she  his,  and  naught  could 
longer  stand  in  the  way  between  them  and  happiness.  Now  when  the 
King  was  near  his  death — now  he  loved  her  only — he  loved  but  Catha- 
rine. His  ambition  had  decided  his  heart.  Death  had  become  the 
judge  over  Seymour's  double  affection  and  divided  heart,  and  with  King 
Henry's  death,  Elizabeth's  star  had  also  paled. 

Catharine  was  the  widow  of  a  King;  aud,  without  doubt,  this  tender 


133 

husband  had  appointed  his  young  and  adored  wife  Regent,  durir.g  (lie 
minority  of  the  Prince  of  Wales.  Catharine  then  would  have  still  fve 
years  of  unlimited  sway,  of  royal  authority  and  sovereign  power.  If 
Catharine  were  his  wife,  then  would  he,  Thomas  Seymour  si 
power;  and  the  purple  robes  of  royalty,  which  rested  on  her  Bhoulders 
would  cover  hiin  also;  and  he  would  help  her  bear  that  crown,  which 
doubtless  might  sometimes  press  heavily  on  her  tender  brow  He 
would,  in  reality,  be  the  JJcgent,  and  Cathariae  would  be.  so  only  in 
name.  She,  the  Queen  of  England,  and  he,  King  of  this  Queen.  What 
a  proud,  intoxicating  thought  was  that !  Aid  what  plans,  what  hopes 
might  not  be  twined  with  it!  Five  years  of  sway — was  not  that  a 
time  long  enough  to  undermine  the  throne  of  the  royal  bov  and  to  sap 
his  authority  1  Who  could  conjecture  whether  the  people,  once  accus- 
tomed to  the  regency  of  the  Queen,  might  not  prefer  to  rem  tin  under 
her  sceptre,  instead  of  committing  themselves  to  this  feeble  youth  ?  The 
people  must  be  constrained  so  to  think,  and  to  make  Catharine,  Thomas 
Seymour's  wife,  their  reigning  Queen. 

The  King  was  sick  unto  death,  and  Catharine  was,  without  doubt,  the 
Regent — perchance  some  day  the  sovereign  Queen. 

Prirtcess  Elizabeth  was  only  a  poor  Princess,  entirely  without  a  pros. 
pect  of  the  throne;  fo*r  before  her  came  Catharine,  came  Edward,  and 
finally  still,  Mary,  Elizabeth's  elder  sister.  Elizabeth  had  not  the  least 
prospect  "t  the  throne;  and  Catharine,  the  nearest  and  best  founded. 

Tnomn  Seymour  pondered  this  as  he  traversed  the  apartments  of 
the  Queen  ;  and  when  he  entered  her  presence,  he  had  convinced  him- 
self that  he  loved  the  Queen  only,  and  "that  it  was  she  alone  whom  he 
had  always  loved. 

Elizabeth  was  forgotten  and  despised.  She  had  no  prospect  of  the 
thrcn< — why  then  should  he  love  her? 

The  Queen,  as  we  have  said,  ordered/  him  to  shut  the  door  gf  the  bou- 
doir and  to  drop  the  hanging.  At  the  same  moment  that  he  did  this, 
the  hanging  of  the  opposite  door,  leading  into  the  sleeping  apartment, 
moved — perhaps  oni$-  the  draught  of  the  closing,  door  had  done  it. 
Neither  the  Queen  nor  Seymour  noticed  it.  They  were  both  too  much 
oocupied'with  themselves.  They  saw  not  how  the  hanging  again  and 
again  gently  shook  and  trembled.  They  saw  not  how  it  was  gently 
opened  a  little,  in  the  middle;  nor  did  they  see  the  sparkling  eyes  which 
suddenly  peeped  through  the  opening  in  the  hanging;  nor  suspected  they 
that  it  was  the  Piince^s  Elizabeth,  who  had  -tepped  behind  the  curtain, 
tlrr*.  better  to  see  and  hear  what  was  taking  place  in  the  boudoir. 

The  Queen  had  arisen  and  advanced  a  few  steps  to  meet  the  Earl. 
As  she  now  stood  before  him — as  their  eyes  met,  she  felt  her  courage 
sink  and  her  heart  fail. 

She  was  compelled  to  look  down  at  the  floor  to  prevent  him  from 
seeing  the  tears  which  involuntarily  came  into  her  eyes.  With  a  silent 
salutation  the  offered  him  her  band.  Thomas  Seymour  pressed  it  im- 
pubmly  to  his  lips,  ;.rd   !  M>ked    yith  passionate   tenderness  into  her 


134 

face.  She  struggled  to  collect  all  her  strength  that  her  heart  might  not 
betray  itself.  With  a  hurried  movement  she  withdrew  her  hand  from 
him,  and  took  from  the  table  a  roll  of  paper  containing  the  new  act  of 
succession  signed  by  the  King. 

My  Lord,  said  she,  1  have  called  you  hither,  because  I  would  like  to 
entrust  a  commission  to  you.  1  beg  you  to  carry  this  parchment  to  the 
Princess  Elizabeth,  and  be  pleased  to  deliver  it  to  her.  But  before  you 
do  that,  I  will  make  you  acquainted  with  its  contents.  This  parchment 
contains  a  new  law  relative  to  the  'succession,  which  has  already  received 
the  sanction  of  the  King.  By  virtue  of  this,  the  royal  prirfcesses  are  no 
longer  under  the  necessity  of  uniting  themselves  with  a  husband  who  is 
a  sovereign  prince,  if  they  wish- to  preserve  their  hereditary  claim  on 
the  throne  unimpaired.  The  King  gives  the  princesses  the  right  to  fol- 
low their  own  hearts ;  and  their  claim  to  the  succession  is  not  to  suffer 
thereby,  if  the  husband  chosen  is  neither  a  king  nor  a  prince.  That,  my 
♦  Lord  is  the  contents  of  this  parchment  which  you  are  to  carry  to  the 
Princess,  and  without  doubt  you  will  thank  me  for  making  you  the 
messenger  of  these  glad  tidings. 

And  why,  asked  he  in  astonishment — why  does  your  Majesty  believe 
that  this  intelligence  should  fill  me  with  special  thankfulness  1 

She  collected  all  her  powers  ;  she  prayed  to  her  own  heart  for  strength 
and  self-control. 

Because  the  Princess  has  made  me  the  confidant  of  her  love,  and  be- 
cause I  am  consequently  aware  of  that  tender  tie  which  binds  you  to 
her"!  said  she  gently  ;  and  she  felt  that  all  the  blood  had  fled  from  her 
cheeks ! 

The  Earl  looked  into  her  face  in-  mute  astonishment.  Then  his  in- 
squiring  and  searching  glance  swept  all  around  the  room. 

We  arc  overheard,  then  1  asked  he  low  in  a  voice.     We  are  not  alone  ? 

We  are,  alone  !  said  Catharine^aloud.  Nobody  can  hear  us  ;  and  God 
alone  is  witness  of  our  conversation. 

Elizabeth,  who  stood  behind  the  hanging,  felt  her  cheeks  glow  with 
shame,  and  she  beg^u  to  repent  what  she  had  doqe.  But  she  was  nev- 
ertheless, as  it  were,  spell-bound  to  that  spot.  It  was  certainly  mean 
and  unworthy  of  a  Princess  to  eavesdrop,  but  she  was  at  that  time  but 
a  young  girl  who  loved,  and  who  wanted  to  observe  her  lover.  So  she 
stayed  ;  she  laid  her  hand  on  her  anxiously  throbbing  heart,  and  mur- 
mured to  herself:  What  will  he  say?  What  means  this  anxious  dread 
that  comes  over  me  1 

Well,  said  Thomas  Seymour,  in  an  entirely  altered  tone,  if  we  are 
alouo  then  this  mask  which  hides  my  face,  may  fall ;  then  the  cuirass 
which  binds  my  heart  may  be  loosened.  Hail,  Catharine,  my  star  and 
my  hope !  No  one,  you  say,  hears  us,  save  God  alone;  and  God  knows 
our  love,  and  he  knows  with  what  longing,  and  what  ecstacy,  I  have 
sighed  for  this  hour — for  this  hour,  which  at  length  again  unites  me  to 
you.  My  God,  it  is  an  eternity  since  I  have  seen  you,  Catharine  ;  and 
my  heart  thirsted  for  you  as  a  famishing  man  for  a  refreshing  draught. — 


135 

Catharine,  my  beloved,  blessed  be  you,  that  you  have  at  last  call  me  to 
you  ! 

He  opened  his  arms  for  her,  but  she  repulsed  him  sharply.  You  are 
mistaken  in  the  name,  Earl,  said  she  bitterly.  You  say  Catherine,  and 
mean  Elizabeth  !  It  is  the  Princess  that  you  love  ;  to  Elizabeth  be- 
longs your  heart,  and  she  has  devoted  her  heart  to  you.  Oh,  Earl,  I 
will  favor  this  love,  and  be  certain,  I  will  not  not  cease  from  prayer  and 
supplication,  till  I  have  inclined  the  King  to  yoyr  wishes,  till  he  has  given 
his  consent  to  your  marriage  with  the  Princess  Elizabeth. 

Thomas  Seymour  laughed.  This  is  a  masquerade,  Catharine ;  and 
you  still  wear  a  mask  over  your  beautiful  and  charming  face.  Oh, 
away  with  that  mask,  Queen.  I  want  to  behold  you  as  you  are.  I  want 
to  see  again  your  own  beautiful  self;  I  want  to  see  the  jvOman.  who  be- 
longs to  me,  and  who  has  sworn  to  be  mine,  and  who  has.  with  a 
thousand  sacred  oaths,  vo*ved  to  love  me,  to  be  true  to  me,  and  to 
follow  me  as  her  husband  and  her  lord.  Or  how,  Catharine  ?  Can  you 
have  forgotten  your  oath?  Can  you  have  become  untrue  to  your  own 
heart?  Do  you  want  to  cast  me  away,  and  throw  me,  like  a  ball  of 
which  you  are  tired,  to  another? 

Oh,  said  she  quite  unconsciously,  I — I  can  never  forget  and  never  be 
untrue. 

Well  then,  my  Catharine,  thou  bride  and  wife  of  my  future^  what  then 
are  von  speaking  to  me  of  Elizabeth? — of  this  little  Princess,  who  si«hs 
for  love  n*  the  (lower  bud  for  the  sun,  and  takes  the  first  man  whom  she 
finds  in  her  way,  for  the  sun  after  which  she  pines?  What  care  we  for 
Elizabeth,  my  Catharine?  And  what  have  we  to  do  with  that  child  fn 
this  hour  of  long-wished  for  reunion? 

Oh,  he  calls  me  a  child  !  murmured  Elizabeth.  I  am  nothing  but  a 
child  to  him  !  And  she  pressed  her  hands  on  her  mouth  in  order  to  re- 
press her  cry  of  anger  and  anguish,  and  to  prevent  them  from  hearing 
her  tee;h,  which  were  chattering  as  though  she  were  in  a  chill. 

With  irresistible  force,  Thomas  Seymour  drew  Catharine  into  his  arms. 
Avoid  me  no  longer,  said  he.  in  tender  entrpaty.  The  hour  has  come, 
which  is  finally  to  determine  our  destiny  !  The  King  is  at  the  point  of 
death,  and  my  Catharine  will  at  length  be  free — free,  to  follow  her  own 
heart.  At  this  hour,  I  remind  you  of  your  oath!  Do  you  remember 
still  that  day,  when  you  referred  me  to  this  hour?  Do  you  still  know, 
Catharine,  how  you  vowed  to  be  my  wife  and  to  receive  me  as  the  lord 
of  your  future?  Oh,  my  beloved,  that  crown,  which  weighed  down  your 
head,   will  soon  be  taken   away.      Now  [  yet  stand    b  vour 

subject,  but  in  a  few  hours  it  will  be  your  lord  and  your  husband  that 
stands  before  you  ;  and  he  will  ask  :  Catharine,  my  wife,  have  you  kept 
with  me  the  faith  you  swore  to  me  I  Have  yon  been  guiltless  of  per- 
jury in  respect  of  your  vows  and  \our  love?  Have  you  preserved  mv 
honor,  which  is  your  honor  also,  dear  from  every  spot;  and  can  you 
ree  from  guilt,  look  me  in  the  ej 

He  gazed  at  her  with  proud,  flashing  eyes,  and   before  his  command- 


136 

ing  look,  her  firmness  and  her  pride  melted  away  like  ice  before  the  sun- 
shine. Again  he  was  the  master,  whose  right  it  was  to  rule  her  heart; 
und  she  again  the  lowly  hand-maid,  whose  sweetest  happiness  it  is  to 
submit  and  bow  to  the  will  of  her  lover! 

I  ean  look  you  frankly  in  the  eye,  muruiured  she,  and  no  guilt  bur- 
dens  my  conseience.  I  have  loved  naught  but  you,  and  God  only  dwells 
near  you  in  my  heart. 

Wholly  overcome,  wholly  intoxicated  with  happiness,  she  leant  her 
head  upon  his  shoulder,  and  as  he  clasped'her  in  his  arms,  as  he  covered 
with  kisses  her  now  unresisting  lips,,  she  felt  only  that  she  loved  him 
unutterably,  and  that  there  was  no  happiness  for  her,  except  with 
him. 

It  was  a  sweet  dream,  a  moment  of  most  exquisite  ecstacy.  But  it 
was  only  a  moment.  A  hand  was  laid  violently  on  her  shoulder,  a 
hoarse  an^ry  voice  called  her  name ;  and  as  she  looked  up,  she  encoun- 
tered the  wild  glance  of  Elizabeth,  who  stood  before  her  with  deathly 
pale  cheeks,  with  uembliug  lips,  with  expanded  nostrils,  and  eyes  dart- 
ing flashes  of  wrath  and  hatred. 

This,  then,  is  the  friendly  service  •which  you  swore  to  me?  said  she 
gnashing  her  teeth.  Did  you  steal  into  my  confidence,  and  with  scoffing 
mouth  spy  out  the  secrets  of  my  heart,  in  order  to  go  away  aud  be 
tray  them  to  your  paramour?  That  you  might  in  his  arms  ridicule  this 
pitiable  maiden,  who  allowed  herself  for  the  moment  to  be  betrayed  by 
her  heart,  and  took  a  felon  for  an  honorable  man.  Woe,  woe  to  you, 
Catharine,  for  I  tell  you,  I  will  have  no  compassion  on  the  adulteress, 
who  mocks  at  me,  and  betrays  my  father! 

She  '  was  raving,  completely  beside  herself  with  anger,  she  dashed 
away  the  hand  which  Catharine  laid  on  her  shoulder,  and  sprang  back 
from  the  touch  of  her  enemy,  like  an  irritated  lioness. 

Her  father's  blood  fumed  and  raged  within  her,  and,  a  true  daughter  of 
Henry  the  Eighth,  ^he  concealed  in  her  heart  only  blood  thirsty  and  re- 
vengeful thoughts. 

She  cast  on  Thornds  Seymour  a  look  of  dark  wrath,  and  a  contemptu- 
ous smile  played  about  her  lips.  My  Lord,  said  she.  you  have  called  me 
a  child  who  allows  herself  to  be  easily  deceived,  because  she  longs  so 
much  for  the  sun  and  for  happiness.  You  are  right;  1  was  a  child;  and 
I  was  foolish  enough  to  take  a  miserable  liar  for  a  nobleman,  who  was 
worthy  of  the  proud  fortune  of  being  loved  by  a  King's  daughter.  Yes, 
you  are  right;  that  was  a  childish  dream.  Thanks  to  you,  I  have  now 
awoke  from  it ;  and  you  have  matured  the  child  into  a  woman,  who 
laughs  at  the  folly  of  her  youth,  and  despises  today  what  she  adored 
yesterday.  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  you  ;  and  you  are  even  too  insig- 
nificant, and  too  contemptible,  for  my  anger.  But  I  tell  you,  you  have 
played  a  hazardous  game,  and  you  will  lose.  You  courted  a  Queen  and 
a  Princess,  and  you  will  gain  neither  of  them  ;  not,  the  one,  for  she  de- 
spises you;  not  the  other,  for  she  ascends  the  scaffold  ! 

With  a  wild  Laugb  she  was  hurrying  to  the  door,  but  Catharine  with 


1.37 

a  strong  hand  held  her  back,  and  compelled  her  to  remain.  What  are 
you  going  to  do?  asked  she  with  perfect  calmness  and  composure. 

What  am  I  going  to  do?  asked  Elizabeth,  her  eyes  flashing  like  those 
of  a  lioness.  You  ask  me,  what  I  will  do?  I  will  go  to  my  father,  and 
tell  him  what  1  have  here  witnessed !  He  will  listen  to  me ;  and  his 
tongue  will  still  have  strength  enough  to  pronounce  your  sentence  of 
death  !  Oh,  my  mother  died  on  the  scaffold,  and  yet  she  was  innocent. 
We  will  see  forsooth,  whether  you  will  escape  the  scaffold — you,  who 
are  guilty  ! 

Well  then,  go  to  your  father,  said  Catharine;  go  and  accuse  me.  But 
first  you  shall  hear  me.  This  man,  whom  I  loved,  I  wanted  to  renounce, 
in  order  to  give  him  to  you.  By  the  confession  of  your  love,  you  had 
crushed  my  happiness  and  my  future.  But  I  was  not  angry  with  you. 
1  understood  your  heart,  for  Thomas  Seymour  is  worthy  of  being  loved. 
But  you  are  right ;  for  the  King's  wife,  it  was  a  sinful  love,  however  in- 
nocent and  pure  1  may  have  been.  On  that  account  I  wanted  to  re- 
nounce it;  on  that  account  1  waded,  on  the  first  confession  from  you,  to 
silently  sacrifice  myself.  You  yourself  have  now  made  it  an  impossi- 
bility. Go,  then,  and  accuse  us  to  your  father ;  and  fear  not  that  I  will 
belie  my  heart.  Now,  that  the  crisis  has  come,  it  shall  find  me  prepar- 
ed ;  and  on  the  scaffold  I  will  still  account  myself  blest,  for  Thomas 
Seymour  loves  me  ! 

Aye,  he  loves  you,  Catharine  !  cried  he  completely  overcome  and  en- 
chanted by  her  noble,  majestic  bearing.  He  loves  you  so  warmly  and  ar- 
dently, that  death  with  you  seems  to  him  an  enviable  lot ;  and  he  would 
not  exchange  it  for  any  throne,  nor  for  any  crown. 

And  as  he  thus  spoke,  he  put  his  arms  round  Catharine's  neck,  and 
impetuously  drew  her  to  his  heart. 

Elizabeth  uttered  a  fierce  scream,  and  sprang  to  the  door.  But  what 
noise  was  that  which  all  at  once  drew  nigh  ;  which  suddenly,  like  a 
wild  billow,  came  roaring  on,  and  filled  the  anterooms  and  the  hulls  ? 
What  were  these  affrighted,  shrieking  voices  calling?  What  were  they 
screaming  to  the  Queen,  and  the  physicians,  and  the  priest  ? 

Elizabeth  stopped  in  her  race,  and  listened.  Thomas  Seymour  and 
Catharine,  arm  linked  in  arm,  stood  near  her.  They  scarcely  heard 
what  was  taking  place;  they  looked  at  each  other  and  smiled,  and 
dreamed  of  love  and  death  and  an  eternity  of  happiness. 

Now  the  door  flew  open  ;  there  was  seen  John  Heywood's  pale  face  ; 
there  were  the  Maids  of  Honor  and  the  Court  officials.  And  all  shrieked 
and  all  wailed  :  The  King  is  dying!  Ho  is  struck  with  apoplexy  !  The 
Kins:  is  at  the  point  of  death  ! 

The  King  calls  you  !  The  King  desires  to  die  in  the  arms  of  his  wife! 
said  John  Hey  wood,  and,  as  he  quietly  pushed  aside  and  away  from  the 
door  Elizabeth,  who  was  pressing  violently  forwards,  he  added  :  The 
King  will  see.  nobjdy  but  the  priest,  and  his  wife  ;  and  he  has  authoriz- 
ed rne  to  call  the  Queen  ! 

He  opened  the  door ;  and  through  the  1  i r j c ■*  of  weeping  and  wailing 


I3t 

Court-officials  and  servants,  Catharine  moved  on,  to  go  to  the  death-bed 
of  her  royal  husbftnd. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

LE  ROI  EST  MORT,    VIVE  LA   REINE  ! 

King  Henry  lay  a  dying.  That  life  full  of  sin,  full  of  blood  and  crime, 
full  ot*  treachery  and  cunning,  full  of  hypocrisy  and  sanctimonious  cruel- 
ty—that  life  was  at  last  lived  out.  That  hand,  which  had  signed  so 
many  death-warrants,  was  now  clutched  in  the  throes  of  death.  It  had 
stiffened  at  the  very  moment  when  the  King  was  going  to  sign  the  Duke 
of  iNoi folk's  death- warrant.*  And  the  King  was  dying  with  the  gnaw- 
ing consciousness,  that  he  had  no  longer  the  power  to  throttle  that  ene- 
my whom  he  hated  The  mighty  King  was  now  nothing  more  than  a 
feeble,  dying  old  man,  who  was  no  longer  able  to  hold  the  pen,  and  sign 
this  death  warrant,  for  which  he  had  so  long  hankered  and  hoped.  Now 
it  lay  before  him,  and  he  no  longer  had  the  power  to  use  it.  God,  in 
His  wisdom  and  His  justice,  had  decreed  against  him  the  most  grievous 
aud  horrible  of  punishments  ;  He  had  left  him  his  consciousness  ;  He  had 
not  crippled  him  in  mind,  but  in  body  only.  And  that  motionless  and 
rigid  mass,  which  growing  chill  in  death  lay  there  on  the  couoh  of  pur- 
pie  trimmed  with  gold — that  was  the  King — a  King,  whom  agony  of 
conscience  did  not  permit  to  die,  and  who  now  shuddered  and.was  horri- 
fied in  view  of  death,  to  which  he  had,  with  relentless  cruelty,  hunted  so 
many  of  his  subjects. 

Catharine  and  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  the  noble  Cranmer, 
stood  at  his  bed-side;  and  whilst  in  convulsive  agony  he  grasped  Cath- 
arine's hands,  he  listened  to  the  devout  prayers  which  Cranmer  was 
saying  over  him. 

Once  he  asked  with  mumbling  tongue  :  "My  Lord,  what  kind  of  a 
world  then  is  that,  where  those  who  condemn  others  to  die.,  are  con- 
demned to  die  themselves  f'f  And  as  the  pious  Cranmer,  touched  by 
the  agonies  and  tortures  of  conscience  which  he  read  in  the  King's  looks, 
and- full  of  pity  for  the  dying  tyrant,  sought  to  comfort  him,  and  spoke 
to  him  of  the  mercy  of  God  which  has  compassion  on  every  sinner,  the 
King  groaned  out :  "  No,  no  !     No  mercy  for  him  who  knew  no  mercy  !" 

At  length  this  awful  struggle  of  death  with  life  was  ended  ;  and  death 
had  vanquished  life.     The  King  had  closed  his  eyes   to  earth,   to   open 
them  again  there  above,  as  a  guilt-laden  sinner  in  the  presence  of  God. 
*  Historical.  t  The  King's  own  words.    Leti,  vol.  1,page  16. 


139 

For  three  days  his  death  was  kept  a  secret.  They  wanted  first  to 
have  everything  arranged,  and  to  fill  up  the  void  which  his  death  must 
make.  They  wanted,  when  they  spoke  to  the  people  of  the  dead  King, 
to  show  them  also  at  the  same  time  the  liying  King.  And  siuce  they 
knew  that  the  people  would  not,  weep  for  the  dead,  they  were  to  rejoice 
for  the  living;  since  they  would  sing  no  funeral  psalms,  they  were  to 
let  their  hymns  of  joy  resound. 

On  the  third  day,  the  gates  of  Whitehall  were  thrown  open;  and  a 
gloomy  funeral  train  moved  through  the  streets  of  London.  In  dead  .si 
lence  the  populace  saw  home  past  them  the  coffin  of  the  King,  before 
whom  they  had  trembled  so  much,  and  for  whom  they  now  had  not  a 
■word  of  mourning,  or  of  pity — no  tears  for  the  dead,  who  for  seven  and 
thirty  years  had  been  their  King. 

They  wrere  bearing  the  coffin  to  Westminster  Abbey  to  the  splendid 
monument  which  Wolsey  had  built  there  for  his  royal  master.  But  the 
way  was  long,  and  the  panting  horses  with  black  housings,  which  drew 
the  hearse,  had  often  to  stop  and  rest.  And  all  of  a  sudden,  as  the  car- 
riage stood  still  on  one  of  the  large  open  squares,  blood  was  seen  to  is- 
sue from  the  King's  coffin.  It  streamed  down  in  crimson  currents  and 
flowed  over  the  stones  of  the  street.  The  people  with  a  shudder  stood 
around  and  saw  the  King's  blood  flowing,  and  thought  how  much  blood 
he  had  spilt  on  that  same  spot ;  for  the  coffin  was  standing  on  the  square 
where  the  executions  were  wont  to  take  place,  and  where  the  scaffolds 
were  erected  and  the  stakes  set. 

As  the  people  stood  gazing  at  the  blood  which  flowed  from  the  King's 
coffin,  two  dogs  sprang  forth  from  the  crowd  and,  with  greedy  tongue, 
licked  the  bloofl  of  King  Henry  the  Eighth.  But  the  people  shuddering 
and  horror  stricken  fled  in  all  directions,  and  talked  among  themselves 
of  the  poor  priest  who  a  few  weeks  before  was  executed  here  on  this 
very  spot,  because  he  would  not  recognize  the  King  as  the  supreme  Lord 
of  the  Church,  and  God's  vicegerent;  of  that  unfortunate  man,  who  cursed 
the  King  and  on  the  scaffold  said  :  "  May  the  dogs  one  day  drink  the 
blood  of  this  King,  who  has  shed  so  much  innocent  blood."  And  now 
the  curse  of  the  dying  man  had  found  its  fulfillment,  and  the  dogs  had 
drunk  the  King's  blood.* 

When  the  gloomy  funeral  train  had  left  the  palace  of  Whitehall,  when 
the  King's  corpse  no  longer  infected  the  halls  with  its  awful  stench  of 
corruption,  and  the  Court  was  preparing  to  do  homage  to  the  boy  Ed- 
ward as  the  new  King,  Thomas  Seymour,  Earl  of  Sudley,  entered  the 
room  of  the  young  royal  widow.  He  came  in  a  magnificent  mourning 
suit,  and  his  elder  brother,  Edward  Seymour  and  Ci  .miner,  Archbishop 
of  I  Canterbury,  walked  by  his  side. 

With  a  blush  and  a  sweet  smile,  Catharine  Dade  them  welcome 

Queen,  said  Thomas  Seymour  with  solemn  air,  I  come  to-day,  to  claim 
of  you  a  fulfillment  of  your  vow  !     Oh,  do  not  cast  down  your  ejM,  nor 
blush   for  shame.     The   nobis    Archbishop   knows  your   heart,   and   he 
•  Historical,    See  Tytler,  ptgr 


140 

knows,  that  it  is  as  pare  as  the  heart  of  a  maiden,  and  that  an  unchaste 
thought  has  never  sullied  your  pure  soul.  And  my  brother  would  not 
be  here,  had  he  not  faith  in  and  respect  for,  a  love  which  has  preserved 
itself  so  faithful  and  constant  amidst  storms  and  dangers.  I  have  selec- 
ted these  two  noble  friends  as  my  suitors,  and  in  their  presence  I  will 
ask  you:  Qu<  en  Catharine,  the  King  is  dead,  and  no  fetters  longer  bind 
your  heart;  will  you  now  give  it  me  as  my  own  ?  Will  you  accept  me 
as  your  husband,  and  sactifice  fur  me  your  royal  title  and  your  exalted 
position? 

With  a  bewitching  smile,  she  gave  him  her  hand.  You  well  know, 
whimpered  she,  that  1  sacrifice  nothing  for  you,  but  receive  from  you  all 
or  happiness  and  love  that  I  hope  for. 

Will  you  then,  in  the  presence  of  these  two  friends,  accept  me  as  your 
future  husband,  and  plight  me  your  vow  of  truth  and  love? 

Catharine  trembled  and  cast  down  her  eyes  with  the  bashfulness  of  a 
young  girl.  My  God,  whispered  she,  do  you  not  then  see  my  mourning 
dre-s  ?  is  it  becoming  to  think  of  happiness,  while  the  funeral  lamenta- 
tions have  scarcely  died  away  ? 

Queen  Catharine,  said  Archbi?hop  Cranmer,  t:  Let  the  dead  bury  their 
dead  !"  ,Life  also  has  its  rights;  and  man  should  not  give  up  his  claim 
(in  happiness,  for  it  is  a  most  holy  possession.  You  have  endured  much 
and  suffered  much,  Queen,  but  your  heart  is  pure  and  without  guilt ; 
therefore,  you  may  now,  with  a  clear  conscience,  bid  welcome  to  happi- 
ness ajso.  Do -not  delay  about  it.  In  God's  name  1  have  come  to  bless 
your  love,  and  give  to  your  happiness  a  holy  consecration. 

And  I,  said  Edward  Seymour,  I  have  begged  of  my  brother  the  honor 
of  being  allowed  to  accompany  him.  in  order  to  say  t*o  your  Majesty, 
that  I  know  how  to  duly  appreciate  the  high  honor  which  you  show  our 
family,  aud  that,  as  your  brother-in-law,  1  shall  ever  be  mindful  that  you 
were  once  my  Queen,  and  1  your  subject. 

But  1,  cried  Thomas  Seymour,  1  would  not  delay  coming  to  you,  in 
<jrder  that  I  might  show  you  that  love  only  brings  me  to  you,  and  that 
no  other  consideration  could  induce  me.  The  King's  will  is  not  yet 
■opened,  and  I  know  not  its  contents.  But  however  it  may  determine 
with  respect  to  all  of  us,  it  cannot  diminish  or  increase  my  happiness  in 
possessing  you.  Whatever  you  may  be,  you  will  ever  be  to  me  only 
the  adored  woman,  the  ardently  loved  wife  ;  and  only  to  assure  you  of 
this,  I  have  corne  this  very  day. 

Catharine  extended  her  hand  to  him  with  a  bewitching  smile.  I  have 
never  doubted  of  you.  Se\  mour,  whispered  she,  and  never  did  1  love  you 
more  ardently,  than  when  I  wanted  to  renounce  yoCi. 

She  bowed  her  head  on  her  lover's  shoulder,  and  tears  of  purest  joy 
bedewed  her  cheeks.  The  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  joined  their  hands, 
and  blessed  them  as  betrothed  lovers;  a/id  the  elder  Seymour,  Eurl 
Hertford,  bowed  and  greeted  them  as  a  betrothed  couple. 

On  that  very  same  day  the  King's  will  was  opened,  (n  the  large 
gilded  hallj  in  which  King  Henry's  merry  laughter  and  thundering  voice 


141 

of  wrath  had  so  often  resounded,  were  now  read  his  last  com  mauds. 
The  whole  Court  was  assembled,  as  it  was  wont  to  be  for  a  joyous  festi- 
val ;  and  Catharine  once  more  sat  on  the  royal  throne.  But  the  dreaded 
tyrant,  the  blood-thirsty  King.  Henry  the  Eighth,  was  no  longer  at  her 
side  ;  but  the.  poor  pale  boy,  Edward,  who  had  inherited  from  his  father 
neither  energy  nor  genius,  but  only  his  thirst  for  blood  and  his  canting 
hypocricy.  At  his  side  stood  his  sisters,  the  Princesses  Mary  and  Eliza- 
beth. Both  were  pale  and  of  a  sad  countenance;  but  with  both,  it  was 
not  for  their  father  that  they  were  grieving. 

Mary,  the  bigoted  Roman  Catholic,  saw  with  horror  and  bitter  anguish 
the  days  of  adversity  which  were  about  to  befall  her  Church;  for  Ed- 
ward was  a  fanatical  opponent  of  the  Roman  Catholic  religion,  and  she 
knew  that  he  would,  shed  the  blood  of  the  papists  with  relentless  cruel- 
ty.    On  this  account  it  was,  that  she  mourned. 

But  Elizabeth,  that  young  girl  of  ardent  heart — she  thought  neither 
of  her  father,  nor  of  the  dangers  threatening  the  Church;  she  thought 
only  of  her  love,  she  felt  only  that  she  had  been  deprived  of  a  hope,  of 
an  illusion — that  she  had  awoke  from  a  sweet  and  enchanting  dream  to 
the  rude  and  barren  reality.  She  had  given  up  her  first  love,  but  her 
heart  bled  and  the  wound  still  smarted. 

The  Will  was  read.  Elizabeth  looked  towards  Thomas  Seymour  du 
ring  this  solemn  and  portentous  reading.  She  wanted  to  read  in  his 
countenance  the  impression  made  on  him  by  these  grave  words,  so  preg; 
nant  with  the  future;  she  wanted  to  search  the  depths  of  his  soul, 
and  to  penetrate  the  secret  th  lughts  of  his  heart.  She  saw  how  he  turned 
pale,  when,  not  Queen  Catharine,  but  his  brother,  Earl  Hertford,  was  ap- 
pointed Regent  during  Edward's  minority  ;  she  saw  the  sinister,  almost 
angry  look,  which  he  threw  at  the  Queen  ;  and  with  a  cruel  smile  she 
murmured  :  "  I  am  revenged  !     He  loves  her  no  longer  !" 

John  Hey  wood,  who  was  standing  behind  the  Queen's  throne,  had 
also  observed  that  look  of  Thomas  Seymour,  yet  not  like  Elizabeth 
with  a  rejoicing,  but  with  a  sorrowful  heart,  and* he  dropped  his  head 
upon  his  breast  and  murmured  :  "  Poor  Catharine  !  lie  will  hate  her, 
and  she  will  be  very  unhappy." 

But  she  was  still  happy.  Her  eye  #beamed  with  pure  delight,  when 
she  perceived  that  her  lover  was,  by  the  King's  will,  appointed  High 
Admiral  ot  England  and  guardian  of  the  young  King.  She  thought 
not  of  herself,  but  only  of  him,  of  her  lover;"  and  it  filled  her  with  the 
proudest  satisfaction  to  see  him  invested  with  places  of  such  high  honor 
and  dignity. 

Poor  Catharine !  Her  eye  did  not  see  the  sullen  cloud  which  still 
rested  on  the  brow  of  her  beloved.  She  was  so  happy  and  so  innocent 
and  so  little  ambitious.  For  her  this  only  was  happiness,  to  be  her  lov- 
er's, to  be  the  wife  of  Thomas  Seymour. 

And  this  happiness  was  to  be  hers.  Thirty  days  after  the  death  of 
King  Henry  the  Eighth,  she  became  the  wife  of  the  High  ^Admiral, 
Thoma9  Seymour,  Earl   of  Sudley.     Archbishop  Crapmer  solemnized 


142 

their  union  in  the  chapel  at  Whitehall,  and  the  Lord  Protector,  now 
Duke  of  Sommersett,  formerly  Earl  of  Hertford,  the  brother  of  Thomas 
Seymour,  was  the  witness  of  this  marriage,  which  was,  however,  still 
kept  a  secret,  and  of  which  there  was  to  be  no  other  witnesses.  When, 
however,  they  resorted  to  the  chapel  for  the  marriage,  Princess  Eliza- 
beth came  forward  to  meet  the  Queen,  and  offered  her  hand. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  they  had  met  since  the  dreadful  day  on 
which  they  confronted  each  other  as  enemies — the  first  time  that  they 
had  again  seen  each  other  eye  to  eye. 

Elizabeth  had  -rung  this  sacrifice  from  her  heart.  Her  proud  soul 
revolted  at  the  thought  that  Thomas  Seymour  might  imagine  that  she 
was  still  grieving  for  him,  that  she  still  loved  him.  She  would  show  him 
that  her  heart  was  entirely  recovered  from  that  first  dream  of  her  youth 
— that  she  had  not'  the   least  regret  or  pain. 

She  accosted  him  with  a  haughty,  cold  smile,  and  presented  Catharine 
her  hand.  Queen,  said  she,  you  have  so  long  been  a  kind  and  faithful 
mother  to  me,  that  1  may  well  once  more  claim  the  right  of  being  your 
daughter.  Let  me,  therefore,  as  your  daughter,  be  present  at  the  solemn 
transaction  in  which  you  are  about  to  engage ;  and  allow  me  to  stand  at 
your  side  and  pray  for  you,  whilst  the  Archbishop  performs  the  sacred  ser- 
vice, and  transform  the  Queen  into  the  Countess  of  Sudley.  May  God 
bless  you,  Catharine,  and  give  you  all  the  happiness  that  you  deserve ! 

And  Princess  Elizabeth  knelt  at  Catharine's  side,  as  the  Archbishop 
blessed  this  new  marriage  tie.  And  while  she  prayed,  her  eye  again  glided 
over  towards  Thomas  Seymour,  who  was  standing  there  by  his 
young  wife.  Catharine's  countenance  beamed  with  beauty  and  happi- 
ness, but  upon  Thomas  Seymour's  brow  still  lay  the  cloud  that  had 
settled  there  on  that  day  when  the  King's  Will  was  opened — that  Will 
which  did  not  make  Queen  Catharine  Regent,  and  which  thereby  de- 
stroyed Thomas  Seymour's  proud  and  ambitious  schemes. 

And  that  cloud  remained  on  Thomas  Seymour's  brow,  It  sunk  down 
lower,  and  still  lower.  .It  soon  overshadowed  the  happiness  of  Catha- 
rin's  love,  and  awakened  her  from  short  her  dream  of  bliss. 

What  she  suffered,  how  much  of  secret  agony  and  silent  woe  she  en- 
dured, who  can  wish  to  know  or  conjecture?  Catharine  had  a  «proud 
and  a  chaste  soul.  She  concealea  from  the  world  her  pain  and  her 
grief,  as  bashfully  as  she  had  once  done  her  love.  Nobody  'suspected 
what  she  suffered  and  how  she  struggled  with  her  crushed  heart. 

She  never  complained  ;  she  saw  bloom  after  bloom  fall  from  her  life ; 
she.  saw  the  smile  disappear  from  her  husband's  countenance ;  she  heard 
his  voice,  at  first  so  tender,  gradually  harden  to  harsher  tones ;  she  felt 
his  heart  growing  colder  and  colder,  and  his  love  changing  into  indiffer- 
ence, perhaps  even  into  hate. 

She  had  devoted  her  whole  heart  to  love,  but  she  felt  day  by  day, 
and  hour  by  hour,  that  her  husband's  heart  was  cooling  more  -and  more. 
She  felt  with  dreadful,  heart-rending  certainty :  She  was  his  with  aU  her 
love.     But  he  was  no  longer  hers. 


143 

And  she  tormented  her  heart  to  find  out  why  he  no  longer  loved  her; 
what  she  had  been  guilty  of,  that  he  turned  away  from  her.  Seymour 
had  not  the  delicacy  and  magnanimity  to  conceal  from  her  his  inward 
thoughts;  and  at  last  she  comprehended  why  he  neglected  her. 

Pie  had  hoped,  that  Catharine  would  be  Regent  of  England,  that  he 
then  would  be  consort  of  the  Regent.  Because  it  had  not  happened  so, 
his  Love  had  died. 

Catharine  felt  this,  and  she  died  of  it. 

But  not  suddenly,  not  at  once,  did  death  release  her  from  her  sorrows 
and  racking  tortures. 

Six  months  she  had  to  suffer  and  struggle  with  them.  After  six 
monihs,  she  died. 

Strange  rumors  were  spread  at  her  death;  and  John  Hey  wood  never 
passed  by  Earl  Seymour  without  gazing  at  him  with  an  agry  look,  and 
saying  :  You  have  murdered  the  beautiful  Queen  !     Deny  it,  if  you  can  ! 

Thomas  Seymour  laughed,  and  did  not  consider  it  worth  his  while  to 
defend  himself  against  the  accusations  of  the  fool. 

He  laughed,  notwithstanding  he  had  not  yet  put  off  the  mourning  he 
wore  for  Catharine. 

In  these,  mourning  garments  he  ventured  to  approach  the  Princess 
Elizabeth,  to  swear  to  her  his  ardent  love,  and  sue  for  her  hard. 

But  Elizabeth  repelled  him  with  coldness  and  haughty  contempt ;  and, 
like  the  fool,  the  Princess  also  said  :  you  have  murdered  Catharine !  I 
cannot  be  the  wife  of  a  murderer ! 

And  God's  justice  punished  the  murderer  of  the  innocent  and  noble 
Catharine;  and  scarcel)  three  months  after  the  death  of  his  wife,  the 
High- Admiral  had  to  ascend  the  scaffold,  and  was  executed  as  a  traitor. 

By  Cathaiine's  wish,  her  books  and  papers  were  given  to  her  true 
friend  John  Hey  wood;  and  he  undertook  with  the  greatest  care  an  ex- 
amination of  the  same.  He  found  among  her  papers  many  leaves  writ 
ten  by  herself,  many  verses  and  poems,  which  breathed  forth  the  sorrow- 
fulness of  her  spirit.  Catharine  herself  hid  collected  them  into  a  lunik, 
and  with  her  own  hand  she  had  given  to  the  book  this  title  :  "  Lamenta- 
tions of  a  Sinner." 

Catharine  had  wept  much  as  she  penned  these  "Lamentations;"  for 
in  many  places  the  manuscript  was  illegible,  and  her  tears  h;id  obliterate 
the  characters. 

John  Heywood  kissed  the  spots  where  the  tiaces  ofcher  tears  remain- 
ed, and  whispered  :  The  sinner  has  by  her  suffering  been  glorified  into  ;i 
saint;  and  these  poems  are  the  cross  and  the  monument,  which  she  has 
prepared  for  her  own  urave.  I  will  t*et  up  this  coss,  that  the  good 
take  comfort,  and  the  wicked  flee  from  it.  And  he  did  so.  He  had  the 
Lamentations  of  a  Sinner  printed  ;  and  this  book  was  the  fairest  monu- 
ment of  Catharine. 


END  OF  VOL  II- 


.*:*:*:*:*:*:* 


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